vTljc  Historical  Romances  of  Robert  <KH.  €tjaint)erg 


MAIDS 
OF  PARADISE 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1902,  by  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 

Illustrations  by  ANDRB  CASTAIGNB 
Copyright,  1902,  by  P.  F.  COLLIER  &  SON. 

All  rights  restrvtJ. 
Published  September,  1903. 


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PREFACE 


AS  far  as  the  writer  knows,  no  treasure-trains  were 
actually  sent  to  the  port  of  Lorient  from  the 
arsenal  at  Brest.  The  treasures  remained  at  Brest. 

Concerning  the  German  armored  cruiser  Augusta,  the 
following  are  the  facts :  About  the  middle  of  December 
she  forced  the  blockade  at  Wilhelmshafen  and  ran  for 
Ireland,  where,  owing  to  the  complaisance  of  the  British 
authorities,  she  was  permitted  to  coal. 

From  there  she  steamed  towards  Brest,  capturing 
a  French  merchant  craft  off  that  port,  another  near 
Rochefort,  and  finally  a  third.  That  ended  her  active 
career  during  the  war;  a  French  frigate  chased  her 
into  the  port  of  Vigo  and  kept  her  there. 

To  conclude,  certain  localities  and  certain  charac- 
ters have  been  sufficiently  disguised  to  render  recogni- 
tion improbable.  This  is  proper  because  "  The  Lizard  " 
is  possibly  alive  to-day,  as  are  also  the  mayor  of  Para- 
dise, Sylvia  Elven,  Jacqueline,  and  Speed,  the  latter 
having  barely  escaped  death  in  the  Virginius  expedi- 
tion. The  original  of  Buckhurst  now  lives  in  New  York, 
and  remains  a  type  whose  rarity  is  its  only  recommen- 
dation. 

Those  who  believe  they  recognize  the  Countess  de 
Vassart  are  doubtless  in  error.  Mornac,  long  dead, 

v 


PREFACE 

is  safe  in  his  disguise ;  Tric-Trac  was  executed  on  the 
Place  de  la  Roquette,  and  celebrated  in  doggerel  by 
an  unspeakable  ballad  writer.  There  remains  Scarlett ; 
dead  or  alive,  I  wish  him  well. 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 
ORMOND,  FLORIDA.  Feb.  7,  1902. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  AT  THE  TELEGRAPH 3 

II.  THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES      ....  21 

III.  LA  TRAPPE 34 

IV.  PRISONERS 5° 

V.  THE  IMMORTALS 65 

VI.  THE  GAME  BEGINS 87 

VII.  A  STRUGGLE  FORESHADOWED no 

VIII.  A  MAN  TO  LET 136 

IX.  THE  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 159 

X.  THE  TOWN-CRIER 171 

XI.  IN  CAMP 180 

XII.  JACQUELINE iQ5 

XIII.  FRIENDS 207 

XIV.  THE  PATH  OF  THE  LIZARD 229 

XV.  FOREWARNED 253 

XVI.  A  RESTLESS  MAN 265 

XVII.  THE  CIRCUS 280 

XVIII.  A  GUEST-CHAMBER 303 

XIX.  TRECOURT  GARDEN 318 

XX.  THE  SEMAPHORE 339 

XXI.  LIKE  HER  ANCESTORS 353 

XXII.  THE  SECRET 381 

rii 


PART   FIRST 


THE  MAIDS  OF  PARADISE 


AT  THE  TELEGRAPH 

ON  the  third  day  of  August,  1870,  I  left  Paris  in 
search  of  John  Buckhurst. 

On  the  4th  of  August  I  lost  all  traces  of  Mr.  Buck- 
hurst  near  the  frontier,  in  the  village  of  Morsbronn. 
The  remainder  of  the  day  I  spent  in  acquiring  that 
"  general  information "  so  dear  to  the  officials  in  Paris 
whose  flimsy  systems  of  intelligence  had  already  be- 
gun to  break  down. 

On  August  5th,  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  military  telegraph  instrument  in  the  operator's 
room  over  the  temporary  barracks  of  the  Third  Hus- 
sars clicked  out  the  call  for  urgency,  not  the  usual 
military  signal,  but  a  secret  sequence  understood  only 
by  certain  officers  of  the  Imperial  Military  Police.  The 
operator  on  duty  therefore  stepped  into  my  room  and 
waited  while  I  took  his  place  at  the  wire. 

I  had  been  using  the  code-book  that  morning,  pre- 
paring despatches  for  Paris,  and  now,  at  the  first 
series  of  significant  clicks,  I  dropped  my  left  middle 
finger  on  the  key  and  repeated  the  signal  to  Paris, 
using  the  required  variations.  Then  I  rose,  locked  the 
door,  and  returned  to  the  table. 


THE   MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

"Who  is  this?"  came  over  the  wire  in  the  secret 
code ;  and  I  answered  at  once :  "  Inspector  of  Foreign 
Division,  Imperial  Military  Police,  on  duty  at  Mors- 
bronn,  Alsace." 

After  considerable  delay  the  next  message  arrived 
in  the  Morse  code:  "  Is  that  you,  Scarlett?" 

And  I  replied:  "Yes.  Who  are  you?  Why  do 
you  not  use  the  code?  Repeat  the  code  signal  and 
your  number. " 

The  signal  was  repeated,  then  came  the  message: 
"This  is  the  Tuileries.  You  have  my  authority  to 
use  the  Morse  code  for  the  sake  of  brevity.  Do  you 
understand?  I  am  Jarras.  The  Empress  is  here." 
Instantly  reassured  by  the  message  from  Colonel 
Jarras,  head  of  the  bureau  to  which  I  was  attached, 
I  answered  that  I  understood.  Then  the  telegrams  be- 
gan to  fly,  all  in  the  Morse  code : 

Jarras.  "  Have  you  caught  Buckhurst?" 

7.  "No." 

Jarras.  "  How  did  he  get  away?" 

/.  "  There's  confusion  enough  on  the  frontier  to  cov- 
er the  escape  of  a  hundred  thieves." 

Jarras.  "  Your  reply  alarms  the  Empress.  State 
briefly  the  present  position  of  the  First  Corps." 

/.  "  The  First  Corps  still  occupies  the  heights  in  a 
straight  line  about  seven  kilometres  long ;  the  plateau 
is  covered  with  vineyards.  Two  small  rivers  are  in 
front  of  us ;  the  Vosges  are  behind  us  ;  the  right  flank 
pivots  on  Morsbronn,  the  left  on  Neeh wilier ;  the  centre 
covers  Worth.  We  have  had  forty-eight  hours'  heavy 
rain." 

Jarras.  "Where  are  the  Germans?" 

/.  "  Precise  information  not  obtainable  at  headquar- 
ters of  the  First  Corps. " 

Jarras.  "  Does  the  Marshal  not  know  where  the  Ger- 
mans are?" 


AT    THE    TELEGRAPH 

7.  "Marshal  MacMahon  does  not  know  definitely." 

J arras.  "  Does  the  Marshal  not  employ  his  cavalry? 
Where  are  they?" 

/.  "  Septeuil's  cavalry  of  the  second  division  lie  be- 
tween Elsasshausen  and  the  Grosserwald;  Michel's 
brigade  of  heavy  cavalry  camps  at  Eberbach;  the 
second  division  of  cavalry  of  the  reserve,  General  Vi- 
comte  de  Bonnemain,  should  arrive  to-night  and  go 
into  bivouac  between  Reichshofen  and  the  Grosser- 
wald." 

There  was  a  long  pause ;  I  lighted  a  cigar  and  waited- 
After  a  while  the  instrument  began  again : 

Jarras.  "  The  Empress  desires  to  know  where  the 
chateau  called  La  Trappe  is." 

/.  "  La  Trappe  is  about  four  kilometres  from  Mors- 
bronn,  near  the  hamlet  of  Trois-Feuilles. " 

Jarras.  "  It  is  understood  that  Madame  de  Vassart's 
group  of  socialists  are  about  to  leave  La  Trappe  for 
Paradise,  in  Morbihan.  It  is  possible  that  Buckhurst 
has  taken  refuge  among  them.  Therefore  you  will 
proceed  to  La  Trappe.  Do  you  understand?" 

/.  "Perfectly." 

Jarras.  "  If  Buckhurst  is  found  you  will  bring  him 
to  Paris  at  once.  Shoot  him  if  he  resists  arrest.  If 
the  community  at  La  Trappe  has  not  been  warned  of 
a  possible  visit  from  us,  you  will  find  and  arrest  the 
following  individuals: 

"Claude  Ta vernier,  late  professor  of  law,  Paris 
School  of  Law ; 

"  Achille  Bazard,  ex-instructor  in  mathematics,  Fon- 
tainebleau  Artillery  School ; 

"Dr.  Leo  Delmont,  ex -interne,  Charity  Hospital. 
Paris ; 

"  Mile.  Sylvia  Elven,  lately  of  the  Odeon  ; 
'The   Countess   de  Vassart,   well  known   for   her 
eccentricities. 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  You  will  affix  the  government  seals  to  the  house 
as  usual;  you  will  then  escort  the  people  named  to 
the  nearest  point  on  the  Belgian  frontier.  The  Coun- 
tess de  Vassart  usually  dresses  like  a  common  peasant. 
Look  out  that  she  does  not  slip  through  your  fingers. 
Repeat  your  instructions."  I  repeated  them  from  my 
memoranda. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  click !  click !  the  instrument 
gave  the  code  signal  that  the  matter  was  ended,  and 
I  repeated  the  signal,  opened  my  code-book,  and  began 
to  translate  the  instructions  into  cipher  for  safety's 
sake. 

When  I  had  finished  and  had  carefully  destroyed 
my  first  pencilled  memoranda,  the  steady  bumping 
of  artillery  passing  through  the  street  under  the  win- 
dows drew  my  attention. 

It  proved  to  be  the  expected  batteries  of  the  reserve 
going  into  park,  between  the  two  brigades  of  Raoult's 
division  of  infantry.  I  telegraphed  the  news  to  the 
observatory  on  the  Col  du  Pigeonnier,  then  walked 
back  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

It  had  begun  to  rain  again  ;  down  the  solitary  street 
of  Morsbronn  the  artillery  rolled,  jolting ;  cannoneers, 
wrapped  in  their  wet,  gray  overcoats,  limbers,  caissons, 
and  horses  plastered  with  mud.  The  slim  cannon, 
with  canvas-wrapped  breeches  uptilted,  dripped  from 
their  depressed  muzzles,  like  lank  monsters  slavering 
and  discouraged. 

A  battery  of  Montigny  mitrailleuses  passed,  gro- 
tesque, hump -backed  little  engines  of  destruction. 
To  me  there  was  always  something  repulsive  in  the 
shape  of  these  stunted  cannon,  these  malicious  metal 
cripples  with  their  heavy  bodies  and  sinister,  filthy 
mouths. 

Before  the  drenched  artillery  had  rattled  out  of 
Morsbronn  the  rain  once  more  fell  in  floods,  pouring 

6 


AT   THE    TELEGRAPH 

a  perpendicular  torrent  from  the  transparent,  gray 
heavens,  and  the  roar  of  the  downpour  on  slate  roofs 
and  ancient  gables  drowned  the  pounding  of  the  pass- 
ing cannon. 

Where  the  Vosges  mountains  towered  in  obscurity  a 
curtain  of  rain  joined  earth  and  sky.  The  rivers  ran 
yellow,  brimful,  foaming  at  the  fords.  The  sema- 
phore on  the  mountain  of  the  Pigeonnier  was  not  visi- 
ble; but  across  the  bridge,  where  the  Gunstett  high- 
way spanned  the  Sauer,  gray  masses  of  the  Niederwald 
loomed  through  the  rain. 

Somewhere  in  that  spectral  forest  Prussian  cavalry 
were  hidden,  watching  the  heights  where  our  drenched 
divisions  lay.  Behind  that  forest  a  German  army  was 
massing,  fresh  from  the  combat  in  the  north,  where 
the  tragedy  of  Wissembourg  had  been  enacted  only 
the  day  before,  in  the  presence  of  the  entire  French 
army — the  awful  spectacle  of  a  single  division  of  seven 
thousand  men  suddenly  enveloped  and  crushed  by 
seventy  thousand  Germans. 

The  rain  fell  steadily  but  less  heavily.  I  went  back 
to  my  instrument  and  called  up  the  station  on  the 
Col  du  Pigeonnier,  asking  for  information,  but  got  no 
reply,  the  storm  doubtless  interfering. 

Officers  of  the  Third  Hussars  were  continually  tramp- 
ing up  and  down  the  muddy  stairway,  laughing,  jok- 
ing, swearing  at  the  rain,  or  shouting  for  their  horses, 
when  the  trumpets  sounded  in  the  street  below. 

I  watched  the  departing  squadron,  splashing  away 
down  the  street,  which  was  now  running  water  like  a 
river ;  then  I  changed  my  civilian  clothes  for  a  hussar 
uniform,  sent  a  trooper  to  find  me  a  horse,  and  sat 
down  by  the  window  to  stare  at  the  downpour  and 
think  how  best  I  might  carry  out  my  instructions  to 
a  successful  finish. 

The  colony  at  La  Trappe  was,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 

7 


THE   MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

a  product  of  conditions  which  had,  a  hundred  years 
before,  culminated  in  the  French  Revolution.  Now, 
in  1870,  but  under  different  circumstances,  all  France 
was  once  more  disintegrating  socially.  Opposition  to 
the  Empire,  to  the  dynasty,  to  the  government,  had 
been  seething  for  years;  now  the  separate  crystals 
which  formed  on  the  edges  of  the  boiling  under-cur- 
rents  began  to  grow  into  masses  which,  adhering  to 
other  masses,  interfered  with  the  healthy  functions  of 
national  life. 

Until  recently,  however,  while  among  the  dissatisfied 
there  existed  a  certain  tendency  towards  cohesion, 
and  while,  moreover,  adhesive  forces  mutually  im- 
pelled separate  groups  of  malcontents  to  closer  union, 
the  government  found  nothing  alarming  in  the  men- 
aces of  individuals  or  of  isolated  groups.  The  Emperor 
always  counted  on  such  opposition  in  Paris;  the  pal- 
ace of  the  Tuileries  was  practically  a  besieged  place, 
menaced  always  by  the  faubourgs  —  a  castle  before 
which  lay  eternally  the  sullen,  unorganized  multitude 
over  which  the  municipal  police  kept  watch. 

That  opposition,  hatred,  and  treason  existed  never 
worried  the  government,  but  that  this  opposition 
should  remain  unorganized  occupied  the  authorities 
constantly. 

Groups  of  individuals  who  proclaimed  themselves 
devotees  of  social  theories  interested  us  only  when 
the  groups  grew  large  or  exhibited  tendencies  to  unite 
with  similar  groups. 

Clubs  formed  to  discuss  social  questions  were  usu- 
ally watched  by  the  police ;  violent  organizations  were 
not  observed  very  closely,  but  clubs  founded  upon  mod- 
erate principles  were  always  closely  surveyed. 

In  the  faubourgs,  where  every  street  had  its  bawling 
orator,  and  where  the  red  flag  was  waved  when  the 
community  had  become  sufficiently  drunk,  the  gov- 

8 


AT    THE   TELEGRAPH 

ernment  was  quietly  content  to  ignore  proceedings, 
wisely  understanding  that  the  mouths  of  street  ora- 
tors were  the  safety-valves  of  the  faubourgs,  and  that 
through  them  the  ebullitions  of  the  under- world  escaped 
with  nothing  more  serious  than  a  few  vinous  shrieks. 
There  were,  however,  certain  secret  and  semi-secret 
organizations  which  caused  the  government  concern. 
First  among  these  came  the  International  Society  of 
Workingmen,  with  all  its  affiliations — the  "  Internation- 
ale," as  it  was  called.  In  its  wake  trailed  minor  so- 
cieties, some  mild  and  harmless,  some  dangerous  and 
secret,  some  violent,  advocating  openly  the  destruction 
of  all  existing  conditions.  Small  groups  of  anarchists 
had  already  attracted  groups  of  moderate  socialistic 
tendencies  to  them,  and  had  absorbed  them  or  tainted 
them  with  doctrines  dangerous  to  the  state. 

In  time  these  groups  began  to  adhere  even  more 
closely  to  the  large  bodies  of  the  people;  a  party  was 
born,  small  at  first,  embodying  conflicting  communistic 
principles. 

The  government  watched  it.  Presently  it  split,  as 
do  all  parties;  yet  here  the  paradox  was  revealed  of 
a  small  party  splitting  into  two  larger  halves.  To 
one  of  these  halves  adhered  the  Red  Republicans, 
the  government  opposition  of  the  Extreme  Left,  the 
Opportunists,  the  Anarchists,  certain  Socialists,  the 
so-called  Communards,  and  finally  the  vast  mass 
of  the  sullen,  teeming  faubourgs.  It  became  a  party 
closely  affiliated  with  the  Internationale,  a  colossal, 
restless,  unorganized  menace,  harmless  only  because 
unorganized. 

And  the  police  were  expected  to  keep  it  harmless. 
The  other  remaining  half  of  the  original  party  began 
to  dwindle  almost  immediately,  until  it  became  only 
a  group.  With  one  exception,  all  those  whom  the 
police  and  the  government  regarded  as  inclined  to 

9 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

violence  left  the  group.  There  remained,  with  this 
one  exception,  a  nucleus  of  earnest,  thoughtful  people 
whose  creed  was  in  part  the  creed  of  the  Internationale, 
the  creed  of  universal  brotherhood,  equality  before 
the  law,  purity  of  individual  living  as  an  example 
and  an  incentive  to  a  national  purity. 

To  this  inoffensive  group  came  one  day  a  young 
widow,  the  Countess  de  Vassart,  placing  at  their  dis- 
posal her  great  wealth,  asking  only  to  be  received 
among  them  as  a  comrade. 

Her  history,  as  known  to  the  police,  was  peculiar 
and  rather  sad:  at  sixteen  she  had  been  betrothed 
to  an  elderly,  bull-necked  colonel  of  cavalry,  the  no- 
torious Count  de  Vassart,  who  needed  what  money 
she  might  bring  him  to  maintain  his  reputation  as 
the  most  brilliantly  dissolute  old  rake  in  Paris. 

At  sixteen,  Eline  de  Trecourt  was  a  thin,  red-haired 
girl,  with  rather  large,  grayish  eyes.  Speed  and  I  saw 
her  once,  sitting  in  her  carriage  before  the  Ministry 
of  War  a  year  after  her  marriage.  There  had  been 
bad  news  from  Mexico,  and  there  were  many  handsome 
equipages  standing  at  the  gates  of  the  war  office,  where 
lists  of  killed  and  wounded  were  posted  every  day. 

I  noticed  her  particularly  because  of  her  reputed 
wealth  and  the  evil  reputation  of  her  husband,  who, 
it  was  said,  was  so  open  in  his  contempt  for  her  that 
the  very  afternoon  of  their  marriage  he  was  seen  pub- 
licly driving  on  the  Champs-Elys£es  with  a  pretty  and 
popular  actress  of  the  Od6on. 

As  I  passed,  glancing  up  at  her,  the  sadness  of  her 
face  impressed  me,  and  I  remember  wondering  how 
much  the  death  of  her  husband  had  to  do  with  it — for 
his  name  had  appeared  in  the  evening  papers  under 
the  heading,  "Killed  in  Action." 

It  was  several  years  later  before  the  police  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  the  Comtesse  Eline  de  Vassart. 

10 


AT   THE    TELEGRAPH 

She  had  withdrawn  entirely  from  society,  had  founded 
a  non-sectarian  free  school  in  Passy,  was  interested 
in  certain  charities  and  refuges  for  young  working- 
girls,  when  on  a  visit  to  England,  she  met  Karl  Marx, 
then  a  fugitive  and  under  sentence  of  death. 

From  that  moment  social  questions  occupied  her, 
and  her  doings  interested  the  police,  especially  when 
she  returned  to  Paris  and  took  her  place  once  more 
in  Royalist  circles,  where  every  baby  was  bred  from 
the  cradle  to  renounce  the  Tuileries,  the  Emperor, 
and  all  his  works. 

Serious,  tender  -  hearted,  charitable,  and  intensely 
interested  in  all  social  reforms,  she  shocked  the  con- 
servative society  of  the  noble  faubourg,  aroused  the 
distrust  of  the  government,  offended  the  Tuileries,  and 
finally  committed  the  mistake  of  receiving  at  her  own 
house  that  notorious  group  of  malcontents  headed  by 
Henri  Rochefort,  whose  revolutionary  newspaper,  La 
Marseillaise,  doubtless  needed  pecuniary  support. 

Her  dossier — for,  alas !  the  young  girl  already  had  a 
dossier — was  interesting,  particularly  in  its  summing- 
up  of  her  personal  character : 

"  To  the  naive  ignorance  of  a  convent  pensionnaire, 
she  adds  an  innocence  of  mind,  a  purity  of  conduct, 
and  a  credulity  which  render  her  an  easy  prey  to  the 
adroit,  who  play  upon  her  sympathies.  She  is  dan- 
gerous only  as  a  source  of  revenue  for  dangerous  men. " 

It  was  from  her  salon  that  young  Victor  Noir  went 
to  his  death  at  Auteuil  on  the  loth  of  January;  and 
possibly  the  shock  of  the  murder  and  the  almost  uni- 
versal conviction  that  justice  under  the  Empire  was 
hopeless  drove  the  young  Countess  to  seek  a  refuge 
in  the  country  where,  at  her  house  of  La  Trappe,  she 
could  quietly  devote  her  life  to  helping  the  desperately 
wretched,  and  where  she  could,  in  security,  hold  council 
with  those  who  also  had  chosen  to  give  their  lives  to 

II 


THE   MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

the  noblest  of  all  works— charity  and  the  propaganda 
of  universal  brotherhood. 

And  here,  at  La  Trappe,  the  young  aristocrat  first 
donned  the  robe  of  democracy,  dedicated  her  life  and 
fortune  to  the  cause,  and  worked  with  her  own  delicate 
hands  for  every  morsel  of  bread  that  passed  her  lips. 

Now  this  was  all  very  well  while  it  lasted,  for  her 
father,  the  choleric  old  Comte  de  Trecourt,  had  died 
rich,  and  the  young  girl's  charities  were  doubled, 
and  there  was  nobody  to  stay  her  hand  or  draw  the 
generous  purse-strings ;  nobody  to  advise  her  or  to  stop 
her.  On  the  contrary,  there  were  plenty  of  people 
standing  around  with  outstretched,  itching,  and  some- 
times dirty  hands,  ready  to  snatch  at  the  last  centime. 

Who  was  there  to  administer  her  affairs,  who  among 
the  generous,  impetuous,  ill  -  balanced  friends  that 
surrounded  her?  Not  the  noble-minded  geographer, 
Elisee  R£clus;  not  the  fiery  citizen  -  count,  Rochefort; 
not  the  handsome,  cultivated  Gustave  Flourens,  al- 
ready "  fey  "  with  the  doom  to  which  he  had  been  born; 
not  that  kindly  visionary,  the  Vicomte  de  Coursay- 
Delmont,  now  discarding  his  ancient  title  to  be  known 
only  among  his  grateful,  penniless  patients  as  Doctor 
Delmont ;  and  surely  not  Professor  Ta vernier,  nor  yet 
that  militant  hermit,  the  young  Chevalier  de  Gray, 
calling  himself  plain  Monsieur  Bazard,  who  chose  de- 
mocracy instead  of  the  brilliant  career  to  which  Gram- 
mont  had  destined  him,  and  whose  sensitive  and  per- 
haps diseased  mind  had  never  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  the  murder  of  his  comrade,  Victor  Noir. 

But  the  simple  life  at  La  Trappe,  the  negative  pro- 
test against  the  Empire  and  all  existing  social  con- 
ditions, the  purity  of  motive,  the  serene  and  inspired 
self-abnegation,  could  not  save  the  colony  at  La  Trappe 
nor  the  young  chatelaine  from  the  claws  of  those  who 
prey  upon  the  innocence  of  the  generous. 

12 


AT    THE    TELEGRAPH 

And  so  came  to  this  ideal  community  one  John 
Buckhurst,  a  stranger,  quiet,  suave,  deadly  pale,  a 
finely  moulded  man,  with  delicately  fashioned  hands 
and  feet,  and  two  eyes  so  colorless  that  in  some  lights 
they  appeared  to  be  almost  sightless. 

In  a  month  from  that  time  he  was  the  power  that 
moved  that  community  even  in  its  most  insignificant 
machinery.  With  marvellous  skill  he  constructed  out 
of  that  simple  republic  of  protestants  an  absolute  des- 
potism. And  he  was  the  despot. 

The  avowed  object  of  the  society  was  the  advance- 
ment of  universal  brotherhood,  of  liberty  and  equality, 
the  annihilation  of  those  arbitrary  barriers  called  na- 
tional frontiers — in  short,  a  society  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  millennium,  which,  however,  appeared  to 
be  coy. 

And  before  the  eyes  of  his  brother  dreamers  John 
Buckhurst  quietly  cancelled  the  entire  programme  at 
one  stroke,  and  nobody  understood  that  it  was  can- 
celled when,  in  a  community  founded  upon  equality 
and  fraternity,  he  raised  another  edifice  to  crown  it, 
a  sort  of  working  model  as  an  example  to  the  world, 
but  limited.  And  down  went  democracy  without  a 
sound. 

This  working  model  was  a  superior  community 
which  was  established  at  the  Breton  home  of  the  Coun- 
tess de  Vassart,  a  large  stone  house  in  the  hamlet  of 
Paradise,  in  Morbihan. 

An  intimation  from  the  Tuileries  interrupted  a  meet- 
ing of  the  council  at  the  house  in  Paradise ;  an  arrest 
was  threatened  —  that  of  Professor  R6clus  —  and  the 
indignant  young  Countess  was  requested  to  retire  to 
her  chateau  of  La  Trappe.  She  obeyed,  but  invited 
her  guests  to  accompany  her.  Among  those  who  ac- 
cepted was  Buckhurst. 

About  this  time  the  government  began  to  take  a 

13 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

serious  interest  in  John  Buckhurst.  On  the  secret 
staff  of  the  Imperial  Military  Police  were  always  cer- 
tain foreigners  — among  others,  myself  and  a  young 
man  named  James  Speed;  and  Colonel  Jarras  had 
already  decided  to  employ  us  in  watching  Buckhurst, 
when  war  came  on  France  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue., 
giving  the  men  of  the  Secret  Service  all  they  could  at- 
tend to. 

In  the  shameful  indecision  and  confusion  attending 
the  first  few  days  after  the  declaration  of  war  against 
Prussia,  Buckhurst  slipped  through  our  fingers,  and 
I,  for  one,  did  not  expect  to  hear  of  him  again.  But 
I  did  not  begin  to  know  John  Buckhurst,  for,  within 
three  days  after  he  had  avoided  an  encounter  with 
us,  Buckhurst  was  believed  to  have  committed  one 
of  the  most  celebrated  crimes  of  the  century. 

The  secret  history  of  that  unhappy  war  will  never 
be  fully  written.  Prince  Bismarck  has  let  the  only 
remaining  cat  out  of  the  bag ;  the  other  cats  are  dead. 
Nor  will  all  the  strange  secrets  of  the  Tuileries  ever 
be  brought  to  light,  fortunately. 

Still,  at  this  time,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should 
not  be  generally  known  that  the  crown  jewels  of  France 
were  menaced  from  the  very  first  by  a  conspiracy  so 
alarming  and  apparently  so  irresistible  that  the  Em- 
peror himself  believed,  even  in  the  beginning  of  the 
fatal  campaign,  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  send 
the  crown  jewels  of  France  to  the  Bank  of  England 
for  safety. 

On  the  I9th  of  July,  the  day  that  war  was  declared, 
certain  of  the  crown  jewels,  kept  temporarily  at  the 
palace  of  the  Tuileries,  were  sent  under  heavy  guards 
to  the  Bank  of  France.  Every  precaution  was  taken ; 
yet  the  great  diamond  crucifix  of  Louis  XI.  was  missing 
when  the  guard  under  Captain  Siebert  turned  over  the 
treasures  to  the  governor  of  the  Bank  of  France. 

14 


AT    THE    TELEGRAPH 

Instantly  absolute  secrecy  was  ordered,  which  I,  for 
one,  believed  to  be  a  great  mistake.  Yet  the  Emperor 
desired  it,  doubtless  for  the  same  reasons  which  al- 
ways led  him  to  suppress  any  affair  which  might  give 
the  public  an  idea  that  the  opposition  to  the  govern- 
ment was  worthy  of  the  government's  attention. 

So  the  news  of  the  robbery  never  became  public 
property,  but  from  one  end  of  France  to  the  other  the 
gendarmerie,  the  police,  local,  municipal,  and  secret, 
were  stirred  up  to  activity. 

Within  forty-eight  hours,  an  individual  answering 
Buckhurst 's  description  had  sold  a  single  enormous 
diamond  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
to  a  dealer  in  Strasbourg,  a  Jew  named  Fishel  Cohen, 
who,  counting  on  the  excitement  produced  by  the 
war  and  the  topsy-turvy  condition  of  the  city,  sup- 
posed that  such  a  transaction  would  create  no  interest. 

Mr.  Cohen  was  wrong ;  an  hour  after  he  had  recorded 
the  transaction  at  the  Strasbourg  Diamond  Exchange 
he  and  the  diamond  were  on  their  way  to  Paris,  in 
charge  of  a  detective.  A  few  hours  later  the  stone 
was  identified  at  the  Tuileries  as  having  been  taken 
from  the  famous  crucifix  of  Louis  XI. 

From  Fishel  Cohen's  agonized  description  of  the 
man  who  had  sold  him  the  diamond,  Colonel  Jarras 
believed  he  recognized  John  Buckhurst.  But  how  on 
earth  Buckhurst  had  obtained  access  to  the  jewels, 
or  how  he  had  managed  to  spirit  away  the  cross  from 
the  very  centre  of  the  Tuileries,  could  only  be  explained 
through  the  theory  of  accomplices  among  the  trusted 
intimates  of  the  imperial  entourage.  And  if  there  ex- 
isted such  a  conspiracy,  who  was  involved? 

It  is  violating  no  secret  now  to  admit  that  every  soul 
in  the  Tuileries,  from  highest  to  lowest,  was  watched. 
Even  the  governor  of  the  Bank  of  France  did  not  escape 
the  attentions  of  the  secret  police.  For  it  was  certain 

15 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

that  somebody  in  the  imperial  confidence  had  betrayed 
that  confidence  in  a  shocking  manner,  and  nobody 
could  know  how  far  the  conspiracy  had  spread,  or  who 
was  involved  in  the  most  daring  and  shameless  rob- 
bery that  had  been  perpetrated  in  France  since  Cardinal 
de  Rohan  and  his  gang  stole  the  celebrated  necklace 
of  Marie  Antoinette. 

Nor  was  it  at  all  certain  that  the  remaining  jewels 
of  the  French  crown  were  safe  in  Paris.  The  pre- 
cautions taken  to  insure  their  safety,  and  the  result 
of  those  precautions,  are  matters  of  history,  but  no- 
body outside  of  a  small,  strangely  assorted  company 
of  people  could  know  what  actually  happened  to  the 
crown  jewels  of  France  in  1870,  or  what  pieces,  if  any, 
are  still  missing. 

My  chase  after  Buckhurst  began  as  soon  as  Colonel 
Jarras  could  summon  me;  and  as  Buckhurst  had  last 
been  heard  of  in  Strasbourg,  I  went  after  him  on  a 
train  loaded  with  red-legged,  uproarious  soldiers,  who 
sang  all  day : 

"  Have  you  seen  Bismarck 

Drinking  in  the  gay  cafe, 
With  that  other  brother  spark — 
Monsieur  Badinguet?" 

and  had  drunk  themselves  into  a  shameful  frenzy 
long  before  the  train  thundered  into  Avricourt. 

I  tracked  Buckhurst  to  Morsbronn,  where  I  lost  all 
traces  of  him;  and  now  here  I  was  with  my  orders 
concerning  the  unfortunate  people  at  La  Trappe,  star- 
ing out  at  the  dismal  weather  and  wondering  where 
my  wild-goose  chase  would  end. 

I  went  to  the  door  and  called  for  the  military  telegraph 
operator,  whose  instrument  I  had  been  permitted  to 
monopolize.  He  came,  a  pleasant,  jaunty  young  fel- 
low, munching  a  crust  of  dry  bread  and  brushing  the 
crumbs  from  his  scarlet  trousers. 

16 


AT    THE    TELEGRAPH 

"  In  case  I  want  to  communicate  with  you  I'll  signal 
the  tcv:er  on  the  Col  du  Pigeonnier,"  I  said.  "Come 
up  to  the  loft  overhead." 

The  loft  in  the  house  which  had  now  been  turned 
into  a  cavalry  barracks  was  just  above  my  room,  a 
large  attic  under  the  dripping  gables,  black  with  the 
stains  of  centuries,  littered  with  broken  furniture, 
discarded  clothing,  and  the  odds  and  ends  cherished 
by  the  thrifty  Alsatian  peasant,  who  never  throws 
away  anything  from  the  day  of  his  birth  to  the  day 
of  his  death.  And,  given  a  long  line  of  forefathers 
equally  thrifty,  and  an  ancient  high-gabled  house 
where  his  ancestors  first  began  collecting  discarded 
refuse,  the  attic  of  necessity  was  a  marvel  of  litter 
and  decay,  among  which  generations  of  pigeons  had 
built  nests  and  raised  countless  broods  of  squealing 
squabs. 

Into  this  attic  we  climbed,  edged  our  way  toward 
a  high  window  out  of  which  the  leaded  panes  had 
long  since  tumbled  earthward,  and  finally  stood  to- 
gether, looking  out  over  the  mountains  of  the  Alsatian 
frontier. 

The  rain  had  ceased;  behind  the  Col  du  Pigeonnier 
sunshine  fell  through  a  rift  in  the  watery  clouds.  It 
touched  the  rushing  river,  shining  on  foaming  fords 
where  our  cavalry  pickets  were  riding  in  the  valley 
mist. 

Somewhere  up  in  the  vineyards  behind  us  an  in- 
fantry band  was  playing;  away  among  the  wet  hills 
to  the  left  the  strumming  vibrations  of  wet  drums 
marked  the  arriral  of  a  regiment  from  goodness  knows 
where;  and  presently  we  saw  them,  their  gray  over- 
coats and  red  trousers  soaked  almost  black  with  rain, 
rifles  en  bandouliere,  trudging  patiently  up  the  muddy 
slope  above  the  town.  Something  in  the  plodding 
steps  of  those  wet  little  soldiers  touched  me.  Bravely 

17 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

their  soaked  drums  battered  away,  bravely  they  dragged 
their  clumsy  feet  after  them,  brightly  and  gayly  the 
brv.  iking  sun  touched  their  crimson  forage-caps  and 
bayonets  and  the  swords  of  mounted  officers;  but  to 
me  they  were  only  a  pathetic  troop  of  perplexed  peas- 
ants, dragged  out  of  the  bosom  of  France  to  be  huddled 
and  herded  in  a  strange  pasture,  where  death  watched 
them  from  the  forest  yonder,  marking  them  for  slaugh- 
ter with  near-sighted  Teutonic  eyes. 

A  column  of  white  cloud  suddenly  capped  the  rocks 
on  the  vineyard  above.  Bang!  and  something  came 
whistling  with  a  curious,  bird-like  cry  over  the  village 
of  Morsbronn,  flying  far  out  across  the  valley :  and 
among  the  pines  of  the  Prussian  forest  a  point  of  flame 
flashed,  a  distant  explosion  echoed. 

Down  in  the  street  below  us  an  old  man  came  tottering 
from  his  little  shop,  peering  sideways  up  into  the  sky. 

"  II  pleut,  berger,"  called  out  the  operator  beside  me, 
in  a  bantering  voice. 

"  It  will  rain — bullets/'  said  the  old  man,  simply,  and 
returned  to  his  shop  to  drag  out  a  chair  on  the  door- 
sill  and  sit  and  listen  to  the  shots  which  our  cavalry 
outposts  were  exchanging  with  the  Prussian  scouts. 

"  Poor  old  chap,"  said  the  operator;  "it  will  be  hard 
for  him.  He  was  with  the  Grand  Emperor  at  Jena." 

"You  speak  as  though  our  army  was  already  on 
the  run,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  indifferently,  "we'll  soon  be  on 
the  run." 

After  a  moment  I  said:  "I'm  going  to  ride  to  La 
Trappe.  I  wish  you  would  send  those  messages  to 
Paris." 

"  All  right,"  he  said. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  rode  out  of  Morsbronn,  clad 
in  the  uniform  of  the  Third  Hussars,  a  disguise  sup- 
posed to  convey  the  idea  to  those  at  La  Trappe  that 

18 


AT    THE    TELEGRAPH 

the  array  and  not  the  police  were  responsible  for  their 
expulsion. 

The  warm  August  sunshine  slanted  in  my  face  as  I 
galloped  away  up  the  vineyard  road  and  out  on  to  the 
long  plateau  where,  on  every  hillock,  a  hussar  picket 
sat  his  wiry  horse,  carbine  poised,  gazing  steadily 
toward  the  east. 

Over  the  sombre  Prussian  forests  mist  hung;  away 
to  the  north  the  sun  glittered  on  the  steel  helmets 
and  armor  of  the  heavy  cavalry,  just  arriving.  And 
on  the  Col  du  Pigeonnier  I  saw  tiny  specks  move, 
flags  signalling  the  arrival  of  the  Vicomte  de  Bonne- 
main  with  the  "grosse  ca valeric,"  the  splendid  cuiras- 
sier regiments  destined  in  a  few  hours  to  join  the  cui- 
rassiers of  Waterloo,  riding  into  that  bright  Valhalla 
where  all  good  soldiers  shall  hear  the  last  trumpet 
call,  "Dismount!" 

With  a  lingering  glance  at  the  rivers  which  separated 
us  from  German  soil,  I  turned  my  horse  and  galloped 
away  into  the  hills. 

'  A  moist,  fern  -  bordered  wood  road  attracted  me;  I 
reasoned  that  it  must  lead,  by  a  short  cut,  across  the 
hills  to  the  military  highway  which  passed  between 
Trois-Feuilles  and  La  Trappe.  So  I  took  it,  and  pres- 
ently came  into  four  cross-roads  unknown  to  me. 

This  grassy  carrefour  was  occupied  by  a  flock  of 
turkeys,  busily  engaged  in  catching  grasshoppers; 
their  keeper,  a  prettily  shaped  peasant  girl,  looked 
up  at  me  as  I  drew  bridle,  then  quietly  resumed  the 
book  she  had  been  reading. 

"  My  child,"  said  I,  "  if  you  are  as  intelligent  as  you 
are  beautiful,  you  will  not  be  tending  other  people's 
turkeys  this  time  next  year." 

"Merci,  beau  sabreur!"  said  the  turkey-girl,  raising 
her  blue  eyes.  Then  the  lashes  veiled  them;  she 
bent  her  head  a  little,  turning  it  so  that  the  curve  of 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

her  cheeks  gave  to  her  profile  that  delicate  contour 
which  is  so  suggestive  of  innocence  when  the  ears 
are  small  and  the  neck  white. 

"My  child,"  said  I,  "will  you  kindly  direct  me, 
with  appropriate  gestures,  to  the  military  highway 
which  passes  the  Chateau  de  la  Trappe  t" 


THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES 

"  T^HERE  is  a  short  cut  across  that  meadow,"  said 

1  the  young  girl,  raising  a  rounded,  sun-tinted  arm, 
bare  to  the  shoulder. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  I,  looking  at  her  steadily. 

"  And,  after  that,  you  will  come  to  a  thicket  of  white 
birches." 

"Thank  you,  mademoiselle." 

"  And  after  that,"  she  said,  idly  following  with  her 
blue  eyes  the  contour  of  her  own  lovely  arm,  "you 
must  turn  to  the  left,  and  there  you  will  cross  a  hill. 
You  can  see  it  from  where  we  stand — " 

She  glanced  at  me  over  her  outstretched  arm.  "  You 
are  not  listening,"  she  said. 

I  shifted  a  troubled  gaze  to  the  meadow  which  stretch- 
ed out  all  glittering  with  moist  grasses  and  tufts  of 
rain-drenched  wild  flowers. 

The  girl's  arm  slowly  fell  to  her  side,  she  looked  up 
at  me  again,  I  felt  her  eyes  on  me  for  a  moment,  then 
she  turned  her  head  toward  the  meadow. 

A  deadened  report  shook  the  summer  air  —  the 
sound  of  a  cannon  fired  very  far  away,  perhaps  on 
the  citadel  of  Strasbourg.  It  was  so  distant,  so  in- 
distinct, that  here  in  this  peaceful  country  it  lingered 
only  as  a  vibration;  the  humming  of  the  clover  bees 
was  louder. 

Without  turning  my  head  I  said :  "  It  is  difficult  to 

21 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

believe  that  there  is  war  anywhere  in  the  world — is  it 
not,  mademoiselle?" 

"  Not  if  one  knows  the  world/'  she  said,  indifferently. 

"  Do  you  know  it,  my  child?" 

"  Sufficiently,"  she  said. 

She  had  opened  again  the  book  which  she  had  been 
reading  when  I  first  noticed  her.  From  my  saddle 
I  saw  that  it  was  Moliere.  I  examined  her,  in  detail, 
from  the  tips  of  her  small  wooden  shoes  to  the  scarlet 
velvet-banded  skirt,  then  slowly  upward,  noting  the 
laced  bodice  of  velvet,  the  bright  hair  under  the  butter- 
fly coiffe  of  Alsace,  the  delicate  outline  of  nose  and 
brow  and  throat.  The  ensemble  was  theatrical. 

"  Why  do  you  tend  turkeys?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  it  pleases  me,"  she  replied,  raising  her 
eyebrows  in  faint  displeasure. 

"  For  that  same  reason  you  read  Monsieur  Moliere?" 
I  suggested. 

"Doubtless,  monsieur." 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"Is  a  passport  required  in  France?"  she  replied, 
languidly. 

"  Are  you  what  you  pretend  to  be,  an  Alsatian  tur- 
key tender?" 

"  Parbleu!     There  are  my  turkeys,  monsieur." 

"Of  course,  and  there  is  your  peasant  dress  and 
there  are  your  wooden  shoes,  and  there  also,  mademoi- 
selle, are  your  soft  hands  and  your  accented  speech 
and  your  plays  of  Moliere." 

"  You  are  very  wise  for  a  hussar,"  she  said. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I,  "  but  I  have  asked  you  a  question 
which  remains  parried." 

She  balanced  the  hazel  rod  across  her  shoulders 
with  a  faintly  malicious  smile. 

"  One  might  almost  believe  that  you  are  not  a  hussar, 
but  an  officer  of  the  Imperial  Police,"  she  said. 

22 


THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES 

"If  you  think  that/'  said  I,  "you  should  answer 
my  question  the  sooner — unless  you  come  from  La 
Trappe.  Do  you?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Oh!  And  what  do  you  do  at  the  Chateau  de  la 
Trappe?" 

"I  tend  poultry — sometimes,"  she  replied. 

"And  at  other  times?" 

"I  do  other  things,  monsieur." 

"What  things?" 

"What  things?  Mon  Dieu,  I  read  a  little,  as  you 
perceive,  monsieur." 

"Who  are  you?"  I  demanded. 

"Oh,  a  mere  nobody  in  such  learned  company/' 
she  said,  shaking  her  head  with  a  mock  humility 
that  annoyed  me  intensely. 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  conscious  every  moment  of 
her  pleasure  in  my  discomfiture ;  "  under  the  circum- 
stances I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  accept  my  escort  to 
La  Trappe;  for  I  think  you  are  Mademoiselle  Elven, 
recently  of  the  Od6on  theatre." 

At  this  her  eyes  widened  and  the  smile  on  her  face 
became  less  genuine.  "Indeed,  I  shall  not  go  with 
you,"  she  said. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  insist,"  said  I. 

She  still  balanced  her  hazel  rod  across  her  shoulders, 
a  smile  curving  her  mouth. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "do  you  ride  through  the 
world  pressing  every  peasant  girl  you  meet  with  such 
ardent  entreaties?  Truly,  your  fashion  of  wooing  is 
not  slow,  but  everybody  knows  that  hussars  are  head- 
long gentlemen — '  Nothing  is  sacred  from  a  hussar/ '' 
she  hummed,  deliberately,  in  a  parody  which  made  me 
writhe  in  my  saddle. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  taking  off  my  forage-cap, 
"your  ridicule  is  not  the  most  disagreeable  incident 

23 


THE    MAIDS    OF   PARADISE 

that  I  expect  to  meet  with  to-day.     I  am  attempting 
to  do  my  duty,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  do  yours." 

"By  taking  a  walk  with  you,  beau  monsieur?" 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"  And  if  I  refuse?" 

"Then,"  said  I,  amiably,  "I  shall  be  obliged  to 
set  you  on  my  horse."  And  I  dismounted  and  went 
toward  her. 

"Set  me  on— on  that  horse?"  she  repeated,  with  a 
disturbed  smile. 

"Will  you  come  on  foot,  then?" 

"  No,  I  will  not!"  she  said,  with  a  click  of  her  teeth. 

I  looked  at  my  watch — it  lacked  five  minutes  to  one. 

"In  five  minutes  we  are  going  to  start,"  said  I,  cheer- 
fully, and  stood  waiting,  twisting  the  gilt  hilt-tassels 
of  my  sabre  with  nervous  fingers. 

After  a  silence  she  said,  very  seriously,  "  Monsieur, 
would  you  dare  use  violence  toward  me?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  be  very  violent,"  I  replied,  laugh- 
ing. I  held  the  opened  watch  in  my  hand  so  that  she 
could  see  the  dial  if  she  chose. 

"  It  is  one  o'clock,"  I  said,  closing  the  hunting-case 
with  a  snap. 

She  looked  me  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  La  Trappe?" 

She  did  not  stir. 

I  stepped  toward  her;  she  gave  me  a  breathless, 
defiant  stare;  then  in  an  instant  I  caught  her  up  and 
swung  her  high  into  my  saddle,  before  either  she  or 
I  knew  exactly  what  had  happened. 

Fury  flashed  up  in  her  eyes  and  was  gone,  leaving 
them  almost  blank  blue.  As  for  me,  amazed  at  what 
I  had  done,  I  stood  at  her  stirrup,  breathing  very  fast, 
with  jaws  set  and  chin  squared. 

She  was  clever  enough  not  to  try  to  dismount,  woman 
enough  not  to  make  an  awkward  struggle  or  do  any- 

-24 


THE   GOVERNMENT    INTERFERES 

thing  ungraceful.  In  her  face  I  read  an  immense 
astonishment;  fascination  seemed  to  rivet  her  eyes 
on  me,  following  my  every  movement  as  I  shortened 
one  stirrup  for  her,  tightened  the  girths,  and  laid  the 
bridle  in  her  half-opened  hand. 

Then,  in  silence,  I  led  the  horse  forward  through 
the  open  gate  out  into  the  wet  meadow. 

Wading  knee-deep  through  soaking  foliage,  I  piloted 
my  horse  with  its  mute  burden  across  the  fields ;  and, 
after  a  few  minutes  a  violent  desire  to  laugh  seized 
me  and  persisted,  but  I  bit  my  lip  and  called  up  a  fevr 
remaining  sentiments  of  decency. 

As  for  my  turkey-girl,  she  sat  stiffly  in  the  saddle, 
with  a  firmness  and  determination  that  proved  her 
to  be  a  stranger  to  horses.  I  scarcely  dared  look  at 
her,  so  fearful  was  I  of  laughing. 

As  we  emerged  from  the  meadow  I  heard  the  cannon 
sounding  again  at  a  great  distance,  and  this  perhaps 
sobered  me,  for  presently  all  desire  of  laughter  left 
me,  and  I  turned  into  the  road  which  led  through  the 
birch  thicket,  anxious  to  accomplish  my  mission  and 
have  done  with  it  as  soon  as  might  be. 

"Are  we  near  La  Trappe?"  I  asked,  respectfully. 

Had  she  pouted,  or  sulked,  or  burst  into  reproaches, 
I  should  have  cared  little — in  fact,  an  outburst  might 
have  relieved  me. 

But  she  answered  me  so  sweetly,  and,  too,  with 
such  composure,  that  my  heart  smote  me  for  what  I 
had  done  to  he.  and  what  I  was  still  to  do. 

"  Would  you  rather  walk?"  I  asked,  looking  up  at 
her. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  serenely. 

So  we  went  on.  The  spectacle  of  a  cavalryman 
in  full  uniform  leading  a  cavalry  horse  on  which  was 
seated  an  Alsatian  girl  in  bright  peasant  costume 
appeared  to  astonish  the  few  people  we  passed.  One 

25 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

of  these  foot-farers,  a  priest  who  was  travelling  in 
our  direction,  raised  his  pallid  visage  to  meet  my  eyes. 
Then  he  stole  a  glance  at  the  girl  in  the  saddle,  and 
I  saw  a  tint  of  faded  color  settle  under  his  transparent 
skin. 

The  turkey-girl  saluted  the  priest  with  a  bright 
smile. 

"  Fortune  of  war,  father,"  she  said,  gayly.  "  Behold ! 
Alsace  in  chains." 

"  Is  she  a  prisoner?"  said  the  priest,  turning  directly 
on  me.  Of  all  the  masks  called  faces,  never  had  I 
set  eyes  on  such  a  deathly  one,  nor  on  such  pale  eyes, 
all  silvery  surface  without  depth  enough  for  a  spark 
of  light  to  make  them  seem  alive. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  prisoner,  father?"  I  asked. 

"  I  mean  a  prisoner,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

"  When  the  church  cross-examines  the  government, 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame  shake,"  I  said,  pleasantly. 
"  I  mean  no  discourtesy,  father ;  it  is  a  proverb  in  Paris." 

"  There  is  another  proverb,"  observed  the  turkey- 
girl,  placidly.  "Once  a  little  inhabitant  of  hell  stole 
the  key  to  paradise.  His  punishment  was  dreadful, 
They  locked  him  in." 

I  looked  up  at  her,  perplexed  and  irritated,  conscious 
that  she  was  ridiculing  me,  but  unable  to  comprehend 
just  how.  And  my  irritation  increased  when  the  priest 
said,  calmly,  "Can  I  aid  you,  my  child?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  cool  smile. 

"  I  am  quite  safe  under  the  escort  of  an  officer  of  the 
Imperial — " 

"Wait!"  I  said,  hastily,  but  she  continued,  "of  the 
Imperial  Military  Police." 

Above  all  things  I  had  not  wanted  it  known  that 
the  Imperial  Police  were  moving  in  this  affair  at  La 
Trappe,  and  now  this  little  fool  had  babbled  to  a  strange 
priest — of  all  people  in  the  world! 

26 


THE   GOVERNMENT   INTERFERES 

"  What  have  the  police  to  do  with  this  harmless 
child?"  demanded  the  priest,  turning  on  me  so  sudden- 
ly that  I  involuntarily  took  a  step  backward. 

"Is  this  the  confessional,  father?"  I  replied,  sharply. 
"Go  your  way  in  peace,  and  leave  to  the  police  what 
alone  concerns  the  police." 

"  Render  unto  Caesar,"  said  the  girl,  quietly.  "  Good- 
bye, father." 

Turning  to  look  again  at  the  priest,  I  was  amazed 
to  find  him  close  to  me,  too  close  for  a  man  with  such 
eyes  in  his  head,  for  a  man  who  moved  so  swiftly  and 
softly,  and,  in  spite  of  me,  a  nervous  movement  of 
my  hand  left  me  with  my  fingers  on  the  butt  of  my 
pistol. 

"  What  the  devil  is  all  this?"  I  blurted  out.  "  Stand 
aside,  father.  Do  you  think  the  Holy  Inquisition  is 
back  in  France V  Stand  aside  then!  I  salute  your 
cloth!" 

And  I  passed  on  ahead,  one  hand  on  the  horse's 
neck,  the  other  touching  the  visor  of  my  scarlet  forage- 
cap. Once  I  looked  back.  The  priest  was  standing 
where  I  had  passed  him. 

We  met  a  dozen  people  in  all,  I  think,  some  of  them 
peasants,  one  or  two  of  the  better  class — a  country 
doctor  and  a  notary  among  them.  None  appeared  to 
know  my  turkey-girl,  nor  did  she  even  glance  at  them; 
moreover,  all  answered  my  inquiries  civilly  enough, 
directing  me  to  La  Trappe,  and  professing  ignorance 
as  to  its  inhabitants. 

"Why  do  all  the  people  I  meet  carry  bundles?"  I 
demanded  of  the  notary. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  monsieur,  they  are  too  near  the  frontier 
to  take  risks,"  he  replied,  blinking  through  his  silver- 
rimmed  spectacles  at  my  turkey-girl. 

"You  mean  to  say  they  are  running  away  from 
their  village  of  Trois-Feuilles?"  I  asked. 

27 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Exactly,"  he  said.  "War  is  a  rude  guest  for 
poor  folk." 

Disgusted  with  the  cowardice  of  the  hamlet  of  Trois- 
Feuilles,  I  passed  on  without  noticing  the  man's  sneer. 
In  a  moment,  however,  he  repassed  me  swiftly,  go- 
ing in  the  same  direction  as  were  we,  toward  La 
Trappe. 

"  Wait  a  bit!"  I  called  out.  "  What  is  your  business 
in  that  direction,  monsieur  the  notary?" 

He  looked  around,  muttered  indistinctly  about  hav- 
ing forgotten  something,  and  started  on  ahead  of  us, 
but  at  a  sharp  "Stop I"  from  me  he  halted  quickly 
enough. 

"Your  road  lies  the  other  way,"  I  observed,  and,  as 
he  began  to  protest,  I  cut  him  short. 

"  You  change  your  direction  too  quickly  to  suit  me," 
I  said.  "  Come,  my  friend  the  weather-cock,  turn  your 
nose  east  and  follow  it  or  I  may  ask  you  some  ques- 
tions that  might  frighten  you." 

And  so  I  left  him  also  staring  after  us,  and  I  had 
half  a  mind  to  go  back  and  examine  his  portfolio  to 
see  what  a  snipe-faced  notary  might  be  carrying  about 
with  him. 

When  I  looked  up  at  my  turkey-girl,  she  was  sitting 
more  easily  in  the  saddle,  head  bent  thoughtfully. 

"You  see,  mademoiselle,  I  take  no  chances  of  not 
finding  my  friends  at  home,"  I  said. 

"What  friends,  monsieur?" 

"My  friends  at  La  Trappe." 

"Oh!  And  .  .  .  you  think  that  the  notary  we 
passed  might  have  desired  to  prepare  them  for  your 
visit,  monsieur?" 

"Possibly.  The  notary  of  Trois-Feuilles  and  the 
Chateau  de  la  Trappe  may  not  be  unknown  to  each 
other.  Perhaps  even  mademoiselle  the  turkey-girl 
may  number  the  learned  Trappists  among  her  friends." 

28 


THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES 

"Perhaps,"  she  said. 

Walking  on  along  the  muddy  road  beside  her,  arm 
resting  on  my  horse's  neck,  I  thought  over  again  of 
the  chances  of  catching  Buckhurst,  and  they  seemed 
slim,  especially  as  after  my  visit  the  house  at  La 
Trappe  would  be  vacant  and  the  colony  scattered,  or 
at  least  out  of  French  jurisdiction,  and  probably  set- 
tled across  the  Belgian  frontier. 

Of  course,  if  the  government  ordered  the  expulsion 
of  these  people,  the  people  must  go ;  but  I  for  one  found 
the  order  a  foolish  one,  because  it  removed  a  bait  that 
might  attract  Buckhurst  back  where  we  stood  a  chance 
of  trapping  him. 

But  in  a  foreign  country  he  could  visit  his  friends 
freely,  and  whatever  movement  he  might  ultimately 
contemplate  against  the  French  government  could 
easily  be  directed  from  that  paradise  of  anarchists, 
Belgium,  without  the  necessity  of  his  exposing  him- 
self to  any  considerable  danger. 

I  was  sorry  that  affaire  had  taken  this  turn. 

A  little  breeze  began  blowing;  the  scarlet  skirt  of 
my  turkey-girl  fluttered  above  her  wooden  shoes,  and 
on  her  head  the  silk  bow  quivered  like  a  butterfly  on 
a  golden  blossom. 

"They  say  when  the  Lord  fashioned  the  first  maid 
of  Alsace  half  the  angels  cried  themselves  ill  with 
jealousy,"  said  I,  looking  up  at  her. 

"  And  the  other  half,  monsieur?" 

"  The  sterner  half  started  for  Alsace  in  a  body.  They 
were  controlled  with  difficulty,  mademoiselle.  That 
is  why  St.  Peter  was  given  a  key  to  lock  them  in,  not 
to  lock  us  poor  devils  out." 

After  a  silence  she  said,  musing :  "  It  is  a  curious 
thing,  but  you  speak  as  though  you  had  seen  bettef 
days." 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  have  never  seen  better  days.  I 

29 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

am  slowly  rising  in  the  world.  Last  year  I  was  a 
lieutenant;  I  am  now  inspector/' 

"I  meant,"  she  said,  scornfully,  "that  you  had  been 
well-born — a  gentleman." 

"Are   gentlemen   scarce   in   the   Imperial   Military 

Police?" 

"It  is  not  a  profession  that  honors  a  man." 

"  Of  all  people  in  the  world,"  said  I,  "  the  police  would 
be  the  most  gratified  to  believe  that  this  violent  world 
needs  no  police." 

"Monsieur,  there  is  another  remedy  for  violence." 

"And  what  may  that  remedy  be,  mademoiselle?" 

"Non-resistance — absolute  non-resistance,"  said  the 
girl,  earnestly,  bending  her  pretty  head  toward  me. 

"That  is  not  human  nature,"  I  said,  laughing. 

"Is  the  justification  of  human  nature  our  aim  in 
this  world?" 

"  Nor  is  it  possible  for  mankind  to  submit  to  violence," 
I  added. 

"I  believe  otherwise,"  she  said,  gravely. 

As  we  mounted  the  hill  along  a  sandy  road,  bordered 
with  pines  and  with  cool,  green  thickets  of  broom  and 
gorse,  I  looked  up  at  her  and  said :  "  In  spite  of  your 
theories,  mademoiselle,  you  yourself  refused  to  accom- 
pany me." 

"But  I  did  not  resist  your  violence,"  she  replied, 
smiling. 

After  a  moment's  silence  I  said :  "  For  a  disciple  of 
a  stern  and  colorless  creed,  you  are  very  human.  I  am 
sorry  that  you  believe  it  necessary  to  reform  the  world." 

She  said,  thoughtfully:  "There  is  nothing  joyless 
in  my  creed — above  all,  nothing  stern.  If  it  be  fanat- 
icism to  desire  for  all  the  world  that  liberty  of  thought 
and  speech  and  deed  which  I,  for  one,  have  assumed, 
then  I  am,  perhaps,  a  fanatic.  If  it  be  fanaticism  to 
detest  violence  and  to  deplore  all  resistance  to  violence, 

30 


THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES 

I  am  a  very  guilty  woman,  monsieur,  and  deserve  ill 
of  the  Emperor's  Military  Police." 

This  she  said  with  that  faintly  ironical  smile  hover- 
ing sometimes  in  her  eyes,  sometimes  on  her  lips,  so 
that  it  was  hard  to  face  her  and  feel  quite  comfortable. 

I  began,  finally,  an  elaborate  and  logical  argument, 
forgetting  that  women  reason  only  with  their  hearts, 
and  she  listened  courteously.  To  meet  her  eyes  when 
I  was  speaking  interrupted  my  train  of  thought,  and 
often  I  was  constrained  to  look  out  across  the  hills  at 
the  heavy,  solid  flanks  of  the  mountains,  which  seemed 
to  steady  my  logic  and  bring  rebellious  thought  and 
wandering  wisdom  to  obedience. 

I  explained  my  theory  of  the  acceptance  of  three 
things — human  nature,  the  past,  and  the  present. 
Given  these,  the  solution  of  future  problems  must  be 
a  different  solution  from  that  which  she  proposed. 

At  moments  the  solemn  absurdity  of  it  all  came 
over  me — the  turkey-girl,  with  her  golden  head  bent, 
her  butterfly  coiffe  a-flutter,  discussing  ethics  with  an 
irresponsible  fly-by-night,  who  happened  at  that  period 
of  his  career  to  cany  a  commission  in  the  Imperial 
Police. 

The  lazy  road-side  butterflies  flew  up  in  clouds  be- 
fore the  slow-stepping  horse;  the  hill  rabbits,  rising 
to  their  hind-quarters,  wrinkled  their  whiskered  noses 
at  us;  from  every  thicket  speckled  hedge-birds  peered 
at  us  as  we  went  our  way  solemnly  deciding  those 
eternal  questions  already  ancient  when  the  Talmud 
branded  woman  with  the  name  of  Lilith. 

At  length,  as  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  sandy 
hill,  "  There  is  La  Trappe,  monsieur,"  said  my  turkey- 
girl,  and  once  more  stretched  out  her  lovely  arm. 

There  appeared  to  be  nothing  mysterious  about  the 
house  or  its  surroundings;  indeed,  a  sunnier  and  more 
peaceful  spot  would  be  hard  to  find  in  that  land  of 

31 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

hills,  ravines,  and  rocky  woodlands,  outposts  of  those 
cloudy  summits  soaring  skyward  in  the  south. 

The  house  itself  was  visible  through  gates  of  wrought 
iron,  swinging  wide  between  pillars  of  stone,  where 
an  avenue  stretched  away  under  trees  to  a  granite 
terrace,  glittering  in  the  sun.  And  under  the  terrace 
a  quiet  pool  lay  reflecting  tier  on  tier  of  stone  steps 
which  mounted  to  the  bright  esplanade  above. 

There  was  no  porter  at  the  gate  to  welcome  me  or 
to  warn  me  back;  the  wet  road  lay  straight  in  front, 
barred  only  by  sunbeams. 

"May  we  enter?"  I  asked,  politely. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  I  led  the  horse  down  that 
silent  avenue  of  trees  towards  the  terrace  and  the 
glassy  pool  which  mirrored  the  steps  of  stone. 

Masses  of  scarlet  geraniums,  beds  of  living  coals, 
glowed  above  the  terrace.  As  we  drew  nearer,  the 
water  caught  the  blaze  of  color,  reflecting  the  splendor 
in  subdued  tints  of  smothered  flame.  And  always, 
in  the  pool,  I  saw  the  terrace  steps,  reversed,  leading 
down  into  depths  of  sombre  fire. 

"And  here  we  dismount,"  said  I,  and  offered  my 
aid. 

She  laid  her  hands  on  my  shoulders;  I  swung  her 
to  the  ground,  where  her  sabots  clicked  and  her  silver 
neck-chains  jingled  in  the  silence. 

I  looked  around.  How  intensely  still  was  everything 
— the  leaves,  the  water  I  The  silent  blue  peaks  on  the 
horizon  seemed  to  be  watching  me;  the  trees  around 
me  were  so  motionless  that  they  also  appeared  to  be 
listening  with  every  leaf. 

This  quarter  of  the  world  was  too  noiseless  for  me; 
there  might  have  been  a  bird-note,  a  breeze  to  whisper, 
a  minute  stirring  of  unseen  life — but  there  was  not. 

"Is  that  house  empty?"  I  asked,  turning  brusquely 
on  my  companion. 

32 


THE  GOVERNMENT  INTERFERES 

"  The  Countess  de  Vassart  will  give  you  your  an- 
swer," she  replied. 

"  Kindly  announce  me,  then,"  I  said,  grimly,  and 
together  we  mounted  the  broad  flight  of  steps  to  the 
esplanade,   above   which  rose  the   gray   mansion  of 
La  Trappe. 
I 


Ill 


LA   TRAPPE 

THERE  was  a  small  company  of  people  gathered 
at  a  table  which  stood  in  the  cool  shadows  of  the 
chateau's  eastern  wing.  Towards  these  people  my 
companion  directed  her  steps;  I  saw  her  bend  close 
to  the  ear  of  a  young  girl  who  had  already  turned  to 
look  at  me.  At  the  same  instant  a  heavily  built,  hand- 
some man  pushed  back  his  chair  and  stood  up,  re- 
garding me  steadily  through  his  spectacles,  one  hand 
grasping  the  back  of  the  seat  from  which  he  had 
risen. 

Presently  the  young  girl  to  whom  my  companion  of 
the  morning  had  whispered  rose  gracefully  and  came 
toward  me. 

Slender,  yet  with  that  charming  outline  of  body 
which  youth  wears  as  a  promise,  she  moved  across 
the  terrace  in  her  flowing  robe  of  crape,  and  welcomed 
me  with  a  gesture  and  a  pleasant  word,  which  I  scarcely 
heard,  so  stupidly  I  stood,  silenced  by  the  absolute 
loveliness  of  the  girl.  Did  I  say  loveliness?  No, 
not  that,  but  something  newer,  something  far  more 
fresh,  far  sweeter,  that  made  mere  physical  beauty 
a  thing  less  vital  than  the  colorless  shadow  of  a  crystal. 

She  was  not  only  beautiful,  she  was  Beauty  itself, 
incarnate,  alive,  soul  and  body.  Later  I  noticed  that 
she  was  badty  sunburned  under  the  eyes,  that  her  deli- 
cate nose  was  adorned  by  an  adorable  freckle,  and  that 

34 


LA    TRAPPE 

she  had  red  hair.  .  .  .  Could  this  be  the  Countess  de 
Vassart?     What  a  change! 

I  stepped  forward  to  meet  her,  and  took  off  my  forage- 
cap. 

"  Is  it  true,  monsieur,  that  you  have  come  to  arrest 
us?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  I  replied,  already  knowing  that  she 
was  the  Countess.  She  hesitated ;  then : 

"Will  you  tell  me  your  name?  I  am  Madame  de 
Vassart." 

Cap  in  hand  I  followed  her  to  the  table,  where  the 
company  had  already  risen.  The  young  Countess 
presented  me  with  undisturbed  simplicity;  I  bowed  to 
my  turkey-girl,  who  proved,  after  all,  to  be  the  actress 
from  the  Odeon,  Sylvia  Elven;  then  I  solemnly  shook 
hands  with  Dr.  Leo  Delmont,  Professor  Claude  Taver- 
nier,  and  Monsieur  Bazard,  ex-instructor  at  the  Fon- 
iainebleau  Artillery  School,  whom  I  immediately  rec- 
ognized as  the  snipe-faced  notary  I  had  met  on  the 
road. 

"  Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  Dr.  Delmont,  in  his  deep, 
hearty  voice,  "if  this  peaceful  little  community  is 
come  under  your  government's  suspicion,  I  can  only 
say,  Heaven  help  France!" 

"  Is  not  that  what  we  all  say  in  these  times,  doctor?" 
I  asked. 

"  When  I  say  '  Heaven  help  France ! '  I  do  not  mean 
Vive  I'Empereur!'"  retorted  the  big  doctor,  dryly. 

Professor  Ta  vernier,  a  little,  gray -headed  savant 
with  used-up  eyes,  asked  me  mildly  if  he  might  know 
why  they  all  were  to  be  expelled  from  France.  I  did 
not  reply. 

"Is  thought  no  longer  free  in  France?"  asked  Dr. 
Delmont,  in  his  heavy  voice. 

"Thought  is  free  in  France,"  I  replied,  "but  its 
expression  is  sometimes  inadvisable,  doctor." 

35 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  And  the  Emperor  is  to  be  the  judge  of  when  it  is 
advisable  to  express  one's  thoughts?"  inquired  Pro- 
fessor Tavernier. 

"The  Emperor,"  I  said,  "is  generous,  broad-minded, 
and  wonderfully  tolerant.  Only  those  whose  attitude 
incites  to  disorder  are  held  in  check." 

"According  to  the  holy  Code  Napoleon,"  observed 
Professor  Tavernier,  with  a  shrug. 

"The  code  kills  the  body,  Napoleon  the  soul,"  said 
Dr.  Delmont,  gravely. 

"It  was  otherwise  with  Victor  Noir,"  suggested 
Mademoiselle  Elven. 

"Yes,"  added  Delmont,  "he  asked  for  justice  and 
they  gave  him  .  .  .  Pierre!" 

"  I  think  we  are  becoming  discourteous  to  our  guest, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  young  Countess,  gently. 

I  bowed  to  her.  After  a  moment  I  said :  "  Doctor, 
if  you  do  truly  believe  in  that  universal  brotherhood 
which  apparently  even  tolerates  within  its  boundaries 
a  poor  devil  of  the  Imperial  Police,  if  your  creed  really 
means  peace  and  not  violence,  suffering  and  patience, 
not  provocation  and  revolt,  demonstrate  to  the  govern- 
ment by  the  example  of  your  submission  to  its  decrees 
that  the  theories  you  entertain  are  not  the  chimeras 
of  generous  but  unbalanced  minds." 

"We  never  had  the  faintest  idea  of  resisting,"  said 
Monsieur  Bazard,  the  notary,  otherwise  the  Chevalier 
de  Grey,  a  lank,  hollow-eyed  young  fellow,  already 
marked  heavily  with  the  ravages  of  pulmonary  disease. 
But  the  fierce  glitter  in  his  eyes  gave  the  lie  to  his  words. 

"Yesterday,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  I  said,  turning 
to  the  Countess  de  Vassart,  "  the  Emperor  could  easily 
afford  to  regard  with  equanimity  the  movement  in 
which  you  are  associated.  To-day  that  is  no  longer 
possible." 

The  young  Countess  gave  me  a  bewildered  look. 
36 


LA    TRAPPE 

"Is  it  true/'  she  asked,  "that  the  Emperor  does 
not  know  we  have  severed  all  connection  with  the 
Internationale?" 

"  If  that  is  so,"  said  I,  "  why  does  Monsieur  Bazard 
return  across  the  fields  to  warn  you  of  my  coming? 
And  why  do  you  harbor  John  Buckhurst  at  La  Trappe? 
Do  you  not  know  he  is  wanted  by  the  police?" 

"  But  we  do  not  know  why,"  said  Dr.  Delmont,  bend- 
ing forward  and  pouring  himself  a  glass  of  red  wine. 
This  he  drank  slowly,  eating  a  bit  of  black  bread  with  it. 

"Monsieur  Scarlett,"  said  Mademoiselle  Elven,  sud- 
denly, "  why  does  the  government  want  John  Buck- 
hurst?" 

"That,  mademoiselle,  is  the  affair  of  the  govern- 
ment and  of  John  Buckhurst,"  I  said. 

"Pardon,"  interrupted  Delmont,  heavily,  "it  is  the 
affair  of  every  honest  man  and  woman — where  a  Bona- 
parte is  concerned." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  doctor,"  I  said. 

"Then  I  will  put  it  brutally,"  he  replied.  "We 
free  people  fear  a  family  a  prince  of  which  is  a  common 
murderer." 

I  did  not  answer;  the  world  has  long  since  judged 
the  slayer  of  Victor  Noir. 

After  a  troubled  silence  the  Countess  asked  me  if 
I  would  not  share  their  repast,  and  I  thanked  her  and 
took  some  bread  and  grapes  and  a  glass  of  red  wine. 

The  sun  had  stolen  into  the  corner  where  we  had 
been  sitting,  and  the  Countess  suggested  that  we 
move  down  to  the  lawn  under  the  trees ;  so  Dr.  Delmont 
and  Professor  Ta vernier  lifted  the  table  and  bore  it 
down  the  terrace  steps,  while  I  carried  the  chairs  to 
the  lawn. 

It  made  me  uncomfortable  to  play  the  role  I  was 
playing  among  these  misguided  but  harmless  people; 
that  I  showed  it  in  my  face  is  certain,  for  the  Countess 

37 


THE   MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

looked  up  at  me  and  said,  smilingly:  "You  must 
not  look  at  us  so  sorrowfully,  Monsieur  Scarlett.  It 
is  we  who  pity  you." 

And  I  replied,  "Madame,  you  are  generous,"  and 
took  my  place  among  them  and  ate  and  drank  with 
them  in  silence,  listening  to  the  breeze  in  the  elms. 

Mademoiselle  Elven,  in  her  peasant's  dress,  rested 
her  pretty  arm  across  her  chair  and  sighed. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  not  to  resist  violence,"  she  said, 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  world  is  going  to  run  over 
us  some  day.  Is  there  any  harm  in  stepping  out  of 
the  way,  Dr.  Delmont?" 

The  Countess  laughed  outright. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said.  "But  we  must  not  attempt 
to  box  the  world's  ears  as  we  run.  Must  we,  doctor?" 

Turning  her  lovely,  sun-burned  face  to  me,  she  con- 
tinued: "Is  it  not  charming  here?  The  quiet  is 
absolute.  It  is  always  still.  We  are  absurdly  con- 
tented here;  we  have  no  servants,  you  see,  and  we  all 
plough  and  harrow  and  sow  and  reap — not  many 
acres,  because  we  need  little.  It  is  one  kind  of  life, 
quite  harmless  and  passionless,  monsieur.  I  have 
been  raking  hay  this  morning.  It  is  so  strange  that 
the  Emperor  should  be  troubled  by  the  silence  of  these 
quiet  fields — " 

The  distress  in  her  eyes  lasted  only  a  moment ;  she 
turned  and  looked  out  across  the  green  meadows, 
smiling  to  herself. 

"At  first  when  I  came  here  from  Paris,"  she  said, 
"  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  all  this  land. 
I  owe  much  happiness  to  Dr.  Delmont,  who  suggested 
that  the  estate,  except  what  we  needed,  might  be  loaned 
free  to  the  people  around  us.  It  was  an  admirable 
thought;  we  have  no  longer  any  poor  among  us — " 

She  stopped  short  and  gave  me  a  quick  glance. 
"Please  understand  me,  Monsieur  Scarlett.  I  make 

38 


LA    TRAPPE 

no  merit  of  giving  what  I  cannot  use.     That  would 
be  absurd." 

"  The  world  knows,  madame,  that  you  have  given 
all  you  have,"  I  said. 

"Then  why  is  your  miserable  government  sending 
her  into  exile?"  broke  in  Monsieur  Bazard,  harshly. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  I  said,  surprised  at  his  tone  and 
manner.  "  The  colony  at  La  Trappe  is  the  head  and 
centre  of  a  party  which  abhors  war,  which  refuses 
resistance,  which  aims,  peacefully  perhaps,  at  political 
and  social  annihilation.  In  time  of  peace  this  colony 
is  not  a  menace;  in  time  of  war  it  is  worse  than  a 
menace,  monsieur." 

I  turned  to  Dr.  Delmont. 

"  With  the  German  armies  massing  behind  the  forest 
borders  yonder,  it  is  unsafe  for  the  government  to  leave 
you  here  at  La  Trappe,  doctor.  You  are  too  neutral." 

"You  mean  that  the  government  fears  treason?"  de- 
manded the  doctor,  growing  red. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "if  you  insist." 

The  Countess  had  turned  to  me  in  amazement. 

" Treason!"  she  repeated,  in  an  unsteady  voice. 
"  Is  it  treason  for  a  small  community  to  live  quietly 
here  in  the  Alsatian  hills,  harming  nobody,  asking 
nothing  save  freedom  of  thought?  Is  it  treason  for 
a  woman  of  the  world  to  renounce  the  world?  Is  it 
treason  for  her  to  live  an  unostentatious  life  and  use 
her  fortune  to  aid  others  to  live?  Treason!  Monsieur, 
the  word  has  an  ugly  ring  to  me.  I  am  a  soldier's 
daughter!" 

There  was  something  touchingly  illogical  in  the 
last  words — this  young  apostle  of  peace  naively  dis- 
playing her  credentials  as  though  the  mere  word 
"soldier"  covered  everything. 

"Your  government  insults  us  all/'  said  Bazard,  be- 
tween his  teeth, 

39 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

Mademoiselle  Elven  leaned  forward,  her  blue  eyes 
shining  angrily 

"  Because  I  have  learned  that  the  boundaries  of  na- 
tions are  not  the  frontiers  of  human  hearts,  am  I  a 
traitor?  Because  I  know  no  country  but  the  world, 
no  speech  but  the  universal  speech  that  one  reads  in 
a  brother's  eyes,  because  I  know  no  barriers,  no  boun- 
daries, no  limits  to  human  brotherhood,  am  I  a  traitor?" 

She  made  an  exquisite  gesture  with  half -open  arms ; 
all  the  poetry  of  the  Theatre  Franjais  was  in  it. 

"Look  at  me!  I  had  all  that  life  could  give,  save 
freedom,  and  that  I  have  now — freedom  in  thought, 
in  speech,  in  action,  freedom  to  love  as  friends  love, 
freedom  to  love  as  lovers  love.  Ah,  morel  freedom 
from  caste,  from  hate  and  envy  and  all  suspicion, 
freedom  to  give,  freedom  to  receive,  freedom  in  life 
and  in  death!  Am  I  a  traitor?  What  do  I  betray? 
Shame  on  your  Emperor!" 

The  young  Countess,  too,  had  risen  in  her  earnest- 
ness and  had  laid  one  slender,  sun-tanned  hand  upon 
the  table. 

"  War?"  she  said.  "  What  is  this  war  to  us?  The 
Emperor?  What  is  he  to  us?  We  who  have  set  a 
watch  on  the  world's  outer  ramparts,  guarding  the 
white  banner  of  universal  brotherhood!  What  is 
this  war  to  us!" 

"  Are  you  not  a  native  of  France?"  I  asked,  bluntly. 

"I  am  .?,  native  of  the  world,  monsieur." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  care  nothing  for 
your  own  birthland?"  I  demanded,  sharply. 

"I  love  the  world  —  all  of  it  —  every  inch  —  and  if 
France  is  part  of  the  world,  so  is  this  Prussia  that  we 
are  teaching  our  poor  peasants  to  hate." 

"Madame,"  said  I,  "the  women  of  France  to-day 
think  differently.  Our  Creator  did  not  make  love 
•f  country  a  trite  virtue,  but  a  passion,  and  set  it  in 

40 


LA    TRAPPE 

our  bodies  along  with  our  other  passions.     If  in  you 
it  is  absent,  that  concerns  pathology,  not  the  police!" 

I  did  not  mean  to  wound  her — I  was  intensely  in 
earnest;  I  wanted  her  to  show  just  a  single  glimmer 
of  sympathy  for  her  own  country.  It  seemed  as  though 
I  could  not  endure  to  look  at  such  a  woman  and  know 
that  the  primal  passion,  born  with  those  who  had  at 
least  wept  for  their  natal  Eden,  was  meaningless  to  her. 

She  had  turned  a  trifle  pale;  now  she  sank  back 
into  her  chair,  looking  at  me  with  those  troubled  gray 
eyes  in  which  Heaven  itself  had  set  truth  and  loyalty. 

I  said:  "I  do  not  believe  that  you  care  nothing 
for  France.  Train  and  curb  and  crush  your  own 
heart  as  you  will,  you  cannot  drive  out  that  splendid 
earth-born  humanity  which  is  part  of  us — else  we  had 
all  been  born  in  heaven!" 

"  Come,"  said  Bazard,  in  a  rage-choked  voice,  "  let  it 
end  here,  Monsieur  Scarlett.  If  the  government  sends 
you  here  as  a  spy  and  an  official,  pray  remember  that 
you  are  not  also  sent  as  a  missionary." 

My  ears  began  to  burn.  "  That  is  true,"  I  said,  look- 
ing at  the  Countess,  whose  face  had  become  expres- 
sionless. "I  ask  your  pardon  for  what  I  have  said 
and  .  .  .  for  what  I  am  about  to  do." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  I  placed 
them  under  formal  arrest,  one  by  one,  touching  each 
lightly  on  the  shoulder  as  prescribed  by  the  code. 
And  when  I  came  to  the  Countess,  she  rose,  without 
embarrassment.  I  moved  my  lips  and  stretched  out 
my  arm,  barely  touching  her.  I  heard  Bazard  draw 
a  deep  breath.  She  was  my  prisoner. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  prepare  for  a  journey,"  I  said. 
"You  have  your  own  horses,  of  course?" 

Without  answering,  Dr.  Delmont  walked  away  tow- 
ards the  stables;  Professor  Ta vernier  followed  him, 
head  bent. 

41 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"We  shall  want  very  little/'  said  the  Countess, 
calmly,  to  Mademoiselle  Elven.  "Will  you  pack  up 
what  we  need?  And  you,  Monsieur  Bazard,  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  go  to  Trois-Feuilles  and  hire 
old  Brauer's  carriage?"  Turning  to  me  she  said:  "I 
must  ask  for  a  little  delay;  I  have  no  longer  a  car- 
riage of  my  own.  We  keep  two  horses  to  plough  and 
draw  grain ;  they  can  be  harnessed  to  the  farm- wagon 
for  our  effects." 

Monsieur  Bazard 's  hectic  visage  flushed,  he  gave 
me  a  crazy  stare,  and,  for  a  moment,  I  fancied  there 
was  murder  in  his  bright  eyes.  Doubtless,  however, 
devotion  to  his  creed  of  non-resistance  conquered  the 
impulse,  and  he  walked  quickly  away  across  the 
meadows,  his  skeleton  hands  clinched  under  his  loose 
sleeves. 

Mademoiselle  Elven  also  departed  tip-tap!  up  the 
terrace  in  her  coquettish  wooden  shoes,  leaving  me 
alone  with  the  Countess  under  the  trees. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  "before  I  affix  the  government 
seals  to  the  doors  of  your  house  I  must  ask  you  to 
conduct  me  to  the  roof  of  the  east  wing." 

She  bent  her  head  in  acquiescence;  I  followed  her 
up  the  terrace  into  a  stone  hall  where  the  dark  Flemish 
pictures  stared  back  at  me  and  my  spurred  heels  jingled 
in  the  silence.  Up,  up,  and  still  up,  winding  around  a 
Gothic  spiral,  then  through  a  passage  under  the  battle- 
ments and  out  across  the  slates,  with  wind  and  setting 
sun  in  my  face  and  the  sighing  tree-tops  far  below. 

Without  glancing  at  me  the  Countess  walked  to 
the  edge  of  the  leads  and  looked  clown  along  the  sheer 
declivity  of  the  stone  facade.  Slender,  exquisite,  she 
stood  there,  a  lonely  shape  against  the  sky,  and  I  saw 
the  sun  glowing  on  her  burnished  red-gold  hair,  and 
her  sun-burned  hands,  half  unclosed,  hanging  at  her 
side. 

42 


LA    TRAPPE 

South,  north,  and  west  the  mountains  towered, 
purple  as  the  bloom  on  October  grapes;  the  white  arm 
of  the  semaphore  on  the  Pigeonnier  was  tinted  with 
rose  color;  green  velvet  clothed  the  world,  under  a 
silver  veil. 

In  the  north  a  spark  of  white  fire  began  to  flicker 
on  the  crest  of  Mount  Tonnerre.  It  was  the  mirror 
of  a  heliograph  flashing  out  across  leagues  of  gray- 
green  hills  to  the  rocky  pulpit  of  the  Pigeonnier. 

I  unslung  my  glasses  and  levelled  them.  The 
shining  arm  of  the  semaphore  fell  to  a  horizontal  posi- 
tion and  remained  rigid;  down  came  the  signal  flags, 
up  went  a  red  globe  and  two  cones.  Another  string  of 
flags  blossomed  along  the  bellying  halliards;  the  white 
star  flashed  twice  on  Mount  Tonnerre  and  went  out. 

Instantly  I  drew  a  flag  from  my  pouch,  tied  it  to 
the  point  of  my  sabre,  and  stepped  out  along  the  pro- 
jecting snout  of  a  gargoyle.  Below,  under  my  feet, 
the  tree-tops  rustled  in  the  wind. 

I  had  been  flagging  the  Pigeonnier  vigorously  for 
ten  minutes  without  result,  when  suddenly  a  dark 
dot  appeared  on  the  tower  beneath  the  semaphore, 
then  another.  My  glasses  brought  out  two  officers, 
one  with  a  flag ;  and,  still  wratching  them  through  the 
binoculars,  I  signalled  slowly,  using  my  free  hand: 
"This  is  La  Trappe.  Telegraph  to  Morsbronn  that 
the  inspector  of  Imperial  Police  requires  a  peloton  of 
mounted  gendarmes  at  once/' 

Then  I  sat  down  on  the  sun-warmed  slates  and 
waited,  amusing  myself  by  watching  the  ever-chang- 
ing display  of  signal  flags  on  the  distant  observatory. 

It  may  have  been  half  a  minute  before  I  saw  two 
officers  advance  to  the  railing  of  the  tower  and  signal : 
"Attention,  La  Trappe!" 

Pencil  and  pad  on  my  knee,  I  managed  to  use  my 
field-glasses  and  jot  down  the  message: 

43 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Peloton  of  mounted  gendarmes  goes  to  you  as 
soon  as  possible.  Repeat." 

I  repeated,  then  raised  my  glasses.  Another  mes- 
sage came  by  flag:  "Attention,  La  Trappe.  Uhlans 
reported  near  the  village  of  Trois-Feuilles ;  have  you 
seen  them?" 

Prussian  Uhlans!  Here  in  the  rear  of  our  entire 
army!  Nonsense!  And  I  signalled  a  vigorous: 

"No.     Have  you?" 

To  which  came  the  disturbing  reply :  "  Be  on  your 
guard.  We  are  ordered  to  display  the  semaphore  at 
danger.  Report  is  credited  at  headquarters.  Re- 
peat." 

I  repeated.  Raising  my  glasses  again,  I  could 
plainly  see  a  young  officer,  an  unlighted  cigar  be- 
tween his  teeth,  jotting  down  our  correspondence, 
while  the  other  officer  who  had  flagged  me  furled  up 
his  flags  and  laid  them  aside,  yawning  and  stretching 
himself  to  his  full  height. 

So  distinctly  did  my  powerful  binoculars  bring  the 
station  into  range  that  I  could  even  see  the  younger 
officer  light  a  match,  which  the  wind  extinguished, 
light  another,  and  presently  blow  a  tiny  cloud  of  smoke 
from  his  cigar. 

The  Countess  de  Vassart  had  come  up  to  where  I 
was  standing  on  the  gargoyle,  balanced  over  the  gulf 
below.  Very  cautiously  I  began  to  step  backward, 
for  there  was  not  room  to  turn  around. 

"  Would  you  care  to  look  at  the  Pigeonnier,  madame?" 
I  asked,  glancing  at  her  over  my  shoulder. 

"  I  beg  you  will  be  careful,"  she  said.  "  It  is  a  use- 
less risk  to  stand  out  there." 

I  had  never  known  the  dread  of  great  heights  which 
many  people  feel,  and  I  laughed  and  stepped  back- 
ward, expecting  to  land  on  the  parapet  behind  me. 
But  the  point  of  my  scabbard  struck  against  the  battle- 

44 


LA    TRAPPE 

merits,  forcing  me  outward;  I  stumbled,  staggered, 
and  swayed  a  moment,  striving  desperately  to  recover 
my  balance;  I  felt  my  gloved  ringers  slipping  along 
the  smooth  face  of  the  parapet,  my  knees  gave  way 
with  horror;  then  my  fingers  clutched  something — 
an  arm — and  I  swung  back,  slap  against  the  parapet, 
hanging  to  that  arm  with  all  my  weight.  A  terrible 
effort  and  I  planted  my  boots  on  the  leads  and  looked 
up  with  sick  eyes  into  the  eyes  of  the  Countess. 

"Can  you  stand  it?"  I  groaned,  clutching  her  arm 
with  my  other  hand. 

"Yes — don't  be  afraid,"  she  said,  calmly.  "Draw 
me  toward  you;  I  cannot  draw  you  over." 

"Press  your  knees  against  the  battlements/'  I 
gasped. 

She  bent  one  knee  and  wedged  it  into  a  niche. 

"Don't  be  afraid;  you  are  not  hurting  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  ghastly  smile. 

I  raised  one  hand  and  caught  her  shoulder,  then, 
drawn  forward,  I  seized  the  parapet  in  both  arms,  and 
vaulted  to  the  slate  roof. 

A  fog  seemed  to  blot  my  eyes ;  I  shook  from  hair  to 
heel  and  laid  my  head  against  the  solid  stone,  while 
the  blank,  throbbing  seconds  past.  The  Countess 
stood  there,  shocked  and  breathless.  I  saw  her  sleeve 
in  rags,  and  the  snowy  skin  all  bruised  beneath. 

I  tried  to  thank  her ;  we  both  were  badly  shaken,  and 
I  do  not  know  that  she  even  heard  me.  Her  burnished 
hair  had  sagged  to  her  white  neck;  she  twisted  it  up 
with  unsteady  fingers  and  turned  away.  I  followed 
slowly,  back  through  the  dim  galleries,  and  presently 
she  seemed  to  remember  my  presence  and  waited  for 
me  as  I  felt  my  way  along  the  passage. 

"Every  little  shadow  is  a  yawning  gulf,"  I  said. 
"  My  nerve  is  gone,  madame.  The  banging  of  my 
own  sabre  scares  me."' 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

I  strove  to  speak  lightly,  but  my  voice  trembled, 
and  so  did  hers  when  she  said :  "  High  places  always 
terrify  me;  something  below  seems  to  draw  me.  Did 
you  ever  have  that  dreadful  impulse  to  sway  forward 
into  a  precipice?" 

There  was  a  subtle  change  in  her  voice  and  manner, 
something  almost  friendly  in  her  gray  eyes  as  she 
looked  curiously  at  me  when  we  came  into  the  half- 
light  of  an  inner  gallery. 

What  irony  lurks  in  blind  chance  that  I  should  owe 
this  woman  my  life — this  woman  whose  home  I  had 
come  to  confiscate,  whose  friends  I  had  arrested,  who 
herself  was  now  my  prisoner,  destined  to  the  shame  of 
exile ! 

Perhaps  she  divined  my  thoughts — I  do  not  know 
— but  she  turned  her  troubled  eyes  to  the  arched  win- 
dow, where  a  painted  saint  imbedded  in  golden  glass 
knelt  and  beat  his  breast  with  two  heavy  stones. 

"  Madame,"  I  said,  slowly,  "  your  courage  and  your 
goodness  to  me  have  made  my  task  a  heavy  one.  Can 
I  lighten  it  for  you  in  any  manner?" 

She  turned  towards  me,  almost  timidly.  "Could 
I  go  to  Morsbronn  before — before  I  cross  the  frontier? 
I  have  a  house  there;  there  are  a  few  things  I  would 
like  to  take—" 

She  stopped  short,  seeing,  doubtless,  the  pain  of  re- 
fusal in  my  face.  "  But,  after  all,  it  does  not  matter. 
I  suppose  your  orders  are  formal?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"Then  it  is  a  matter  of  honor?" 

"A  soldier  is  always  on  his  honor;  a  soldier's 
daughter  will  understand  that." 

"I  understand,"  she  said. 

After  a  moment  she  smiled  and  moved  forward, 
saying: 

"How  the  world  tosses  us — flinging  strangers  int<-< 

46 


LA    TRAPPE 

each  other's  arms,  parting  brothers,  leading  enemies 
across  each  other's  paths !  One  has  a  glimpse  of  kindly 
eyes — and  never  meets  them  again.  Often  and  often 
I  have  seen  a  good  face  in  the  lamp-lit  street  that  I 
could  call  out  to,  'Be  friends  with  me!'  Then  it  is 
gone — and  I  am  gone —  Oh,  it  is  curiously  sad,  Mon- 
sieur Scarlett!" 

"  Does  your  creed  teach  you  to  care  for  everybody, 
madame?" 

"  Yes — I  try  to.  Some  attract  me  so  strongly — some 
I  pity  so.  I  think  that  if  people  only  knew  that  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  stranger  in  the  world,  the  world 
might  be  a  paradise  in  time." 

"It  might  be,  some  day,  if  all  the  world  were  as 
good  as  you,  madame." 

"  Oh,  I  am  only  a  perplexed  woman,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. "I  do  so  long  for  the  freedom  of  all  the  world, 
absolute  individual  liberty  and  no  law  but  that  best 
of  all  laws — the  law  of  the  unselfish." 

We  had  stopped,  by  a  mutual  impulse,  at  the  head 
of  the  stone  stairway. 

"  Why  do  you  shelter  such  a  man  as  John  Buck- 
hurst?"  I  asked,  abruptly. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  me  with  perfect  composure. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  I  have  come  here  from  Paris  to  arrest 
him." 

She  bent  her  head  thoughtfully  and  laid  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  on  the  sculptured  balustrade. 

"To  me,"  she  said,  "there's  no  such  thing  as  a 
political  crime." 

"  It  is  not  for  a  political  crime  that  we  want  John 
Buckhurst,"  I  said,  watching  her.  "  It  is  for  a  civil 
outrage." 

Her  face  was  like  marble;  her  hands  tightened  on 
the  fretted  carving. 

47 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  What  crime  is  he  charged  with?"  she  asked,  without 
moving. 

"He  is  charged  with  being  a  common  thief,"  I  said. 

Now  there  was  color  enough  in  her  face,  and  to 
spare,  for  the  blood-stained  neck  and  cheek,  and  even 
the  bare  shoulder  under  the  torn  crape  burned  pink. 

"It  is  brutal  to  make  such  a  charge!"  she  said. 
"It  is  shameful!—  '  her  voice  quivered.  "It  is  not 
true !  Monsieur,  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  the 
government  means  what  it  says  and  nothing  more!" 

"  Madame,"  I  said,  "  I  give  my  word  of  honor  that 
no  political  crime  is  charged  against  that  man." 

"  Will  you  pledge  me  your  honor  that  if  he  answers 
satisfactorily  to  that  false  charge  of  theft,  the  govern- 
ment will  let  him  go  free?" 

"I  will  take  it  upon  myself  to  do  so,"  said  I.  "But 
what  in  Heaven's  name  is  this  man  to  you,  madame? 
He  is  a  militant  anarchist,  whose  creed  is  not  yours, 
whose  propaganda  teaches  merciless  violence,  whose 
programme  is  terror.  He  is  well  known  in  the  fau- 
bourgs ;  Belleville  is  his,  and  in  the  Chateau  Rouge  he 
has  pointed  across  the  river  to  the  rich  quarters,  calling 
it  the  promised  land!  Yet  here,  at  La  Trappe,  where 
your  creed  is  peace  and  non-resistance,  he  is  welcomed 
and  harbored,  he  is  deferred  to,  he  is  made  executive 
head  of  a  free  commune  which  he  has  turned  into  a 
despotism  .  .  .  for  his  own  ends!" 

She  was  gazing  at  me  with  dilated  eyes,  hands 
holding  tight  to  the  balustrade. 

"Did  you  not  know  that?"  I  asked,  astonished. 

"No,"  she  said. 

"You  are  not  aware  that  John  Buckhurst  is  the 
soul  and  centre  of  the  Belleville  Reds?" 

"It  is — it  is  false!"  she  stammered. 

"No,  madame,  it  is  true.  He  wears  a  smug  mask 
here;  he  has  deceived  you  all." 

48 


LA    TRAPPE 

She  stood  there,  breathing  rapidly,  her  head  high. 

"John  Buckhurst  will  answer  for  himself/'  she  said, 
steadily. 

"  When,  madame?" 

For  answer  she  stepped  across  the  hall  and  laid  one 
hand  against  the  blank  stone  wall.  Then,  reaching 
upward,  she  drew  from  between  the  ponderous  blocks 
little  strips  of  steel,  colored  like  mortar,  dropping  them 
to  the  stone  floor,  where  they  rang  out.  When  she  had 
flung  away  the  last  one,  she  stepped  back  and  set  her 
frail  shoulder  to  the  wall;  instantly  a  mass  of  stone 
swung  silently  on  an  unseen  pivot,  a  yellow  light 
streamed  out,  and  there  was  a  tiny  chamber,  illumi- 
nated by  a  lamp,  and  a  man  just  rising  from  his  chair. 


IV 

PRISONERS 

INSTANTLY  I  recognized  in  him  the  insolent  priest 
1  who  had  confronted  me  on  my  way  to  La  Trappe  that 
morning.  I  knew  him,  although  now  he  was  wearing 
neither  robe  nor  shovel-hat,  nor  those  square  shoes  too 
large  to  buckle  closely  over  his  flat  insteps. 

And  he  knew  me. 

He  appeared  admirably  cool  and  composed,  glancing 
at  the  Countess  for  an  instant  with  an  interrogative 
expression;  then  he  acknowledged  my  presence  by 
bowing  almost  humorously. 

"  This  is  Monsieur  Scarlett,  of  the  Imperial  Military 
Police,"  said  the  Countess,  in  a  clear  voice,  ending 
with  that  slightly  rising  inflection  which  demands  an 
answer. 

"Mr.  Buckhurst,"  I  said,  "I  am  an  Inspector  of 
Military  Police,  and  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  what  a 
pleasure  this  meeting  is  to  me." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  that,  monsieur,"  said  Buck- 
hurst,  in  his  smooth,  almost  caressing  tones.  "It, 
however,  inconveniences  me  a  great  deal  to  cross  the 
frontier  to-day,  even  in  your  compam^,  otherwise  I 
should  have  surrendered  with  my  confreres." 

"  But  there  is  no  question  of  your  crossing  the  fron- 
tier, Mr.  Buckhurst,"  I  said. 

His  colorless  eyes  sought  mine,  then  dropped.  They 
were  almost  stone  white  in  the  lamplight — white  as 
his  delicately  chiselled  face  and  hands. 

SO 


PRISONERS 

"Are  we  not  to  be  exiled?"  he  asked. 

"  You  are  not/'  I  said. 

"Am  I  not  under  arrest?" 

I  stepped  forward  and  placed  him  formally  under 
arrest,  touching  him  slightly  on  the  shoulder.  He 
did  not  move  a  muscle,  yet,  beneath  the  thin  cloth  of 
his  coat  I  could  divine  a  frame  of  iron. 

"Your  creed  is  one  of  non-resistance  to  violence," 
I  said — "is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  I  saw  that  gray  ring  around 
the  pale  pupil  of  his  eyes  contracting,  little  by  little. 

"You  have  not  asked  me  why  I  arrest  you,"  I  sug- 
gested, "and,  monsieur,  I  must  ask  you  to  step  back 
from  that  table — quick! — don't  move! — not  one  fin- 
ger!" 

For  a  second  he  looked  into  the  barrel  of  my  pistol 
with  concentrated  composure,  then  glanced  at  the 
table-drawer  which  he  had  jerked  open.  A  revolver 
lay  shining  among  the  litter  of  glass  tubes  and  papers 
in  the  drawer. 

The  Countess,  too,  saw  the  revolver  and  turned  an 
astonished  face  to  my  prisoner. 

"  Who  brought  you  here?"  asked  Buckhurst,  quietly 
of  me. 

"I  did,"  said  the  Countess,  her  voice  almost  break- 
ing. "  Tell  this  man  and  his  government  that  you  are 
ready  to  face  every  charge  against  your  honor !  There 
is  a  dreadful  mistake;  they — they  think  you  are — " 

"  A  thief,"  I  interposed,  with  a  smile.  "  The  govern- 
ment only  asks  you  to  prove  that  you  are  not." 

Slowly  Buckhurst  turned  his  eyes  on  the  Countess; 
the  faintest  glimmer  of  white  teeth  showed  for  an  in- 
stant between  the  gray  lines  that  were  his  lips. 

"So  you  brought  this  man  here?"  he  said.  "Oh, 
I  am  glad  to  know  it." 

"  Then  you  cannot  be  that  same  John  Buckhurst 

51 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

who  stands  in  the  tribune  of  the  Chateau  Rouge  and 
promises  all  Paris  to  his  chosen  people/'  I  remarked, 
smiling. 

"No/'  he  said,  slowly,  "I  cannot  be  that  man,  nor 
can  I—" 

"Stop!     Stand  back  from  that  table!"  I  cried. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  coolly. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  without  taking  my  eyes  from 
him,  "in  a  community  dedicated  to  peace,  a  revolver 
is  an  anachronism.  So  I  think  —  if  you  move  I  will 
shoot  you,  Mr.  Buckhurst! — so  I  think  I  had  better 
take  it,  table-drawer  and  all — " 

"Stop!"  said  Buckhurst. 

"Oh  no,  I  can't  stop  now,"  said  I,  cheerfully,  "and 
if  you  attempt  to  upset  that  lamp  you  will  make  a  sad 
mistake.  Now  walk  to  the  door!  Turn  your  back! 
Go  slowly!— halt!" 

With  the  table-drawer  under  one  arm  and  my  pistol- 
hand  swinging,  I  followed  Buckhurst  out  into  the  hall. 

Daylight  dazzled  me;  it  must  have  affected  Buck- 
hurst, too,  for  he  reached  out  to  the  stone  balustrade 
and  guided  himself  down  the  steps,  five  paces  in  front 
of  me. 

Under  the  trees  on  the  lawn,  beside  the  driveway, 
I  saw  Dr.  Delmont  standing,  big,  bushy  head  bent 
thoughtfully,  hands  clasped  behind  his  back. 

Near  him,  Tavernier  and  Bazard  were  lifting  a  few 
boxes  into  a  farm-wagon.  The  carriage  from  Trois- 
Feuilles  was  also  there,  a  stumpy  Alsatian  peasant 
on  the  box.  But  there  were  yet  no  signs  of  the  escort 
of  gendarmes  which  had  been  promised  me. 

As  Buckhurst  appeared,  walking  all  alone  ahead 
of  me,  Dr.  Delmont  looked  up  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"So  they  found  you,  too?  Well,  Buckhurst,  this  is 
too  bad.  They  might  have  given  you  one  more  day 
on  your  experiments." 

52 


PRISONERS 

"What  experiments?"  I  asked,  glancing  at  the  bot- 
tles and  retorts  in  the  table-drawer. 

"Nitrogen  for  exhausted  soil,"  said  the  Countess, 
quietly. 

I  set  the  table-drawer  on  the  grass,  rested  my  pistol 
on  my  hip,  and  looked  around  at  my  prisoners,  who 
now  were  looking  intently  at  me. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  I,  "let  me  warn  you  not  to  claim 
comradeship  with  Mr.  Buckhurst.  And  I  will  show  you 
one  reason  why." 

I  picked  up  from  the  table-drawer  a  little  stick  about 
five  inches  long  and  held  it  up. 

"  What  is  that,  doctor?  You  don't  know?  Oh,  you 
think  it  might  be  some  sample  of  fertilizer  containing 
concentrated  nitrogen?  You  are  mistaken,  it  is  not 
nitrogen,  but  nitro-glycerine. " 

Buckhurst 's  face  changed  slightly. 

"Is  it  not,  Mr.  Buckhurst?"  I  asked. 

He  was  silent. 

"  Would  you  permit  me  to  throw  this  bit  of  stuff  at 
your  feet?"  And  I  made  a  gesture. 

The  superb  nerve  of  the  man  was  something  to 
remember.  He  did  not  move,  but  over  his  face  there 
crept  a  dreadful  pallor,  which  even  the  others  noticed, 
and  they  shrank  away  from  him,  shocked  and  amazed. 

"Here,  gentlemen,"  I  continued,  "is  a  box  with 
a  German  label — 'Oberlohe,  Hanover.'  The  silicious 
earth  with  which  nitro-glycerine  is  mixed  to  make 
dynamite  comes  from  Oberlohe,  in  Hanover." 

I  laid  my  pistol  on  the  table,  struck  a  match,  and 
deliberately  lighted  my  stick  of  dynamite.  It  burned 
quietly  with  a  brilliant  flame,  and  I  laid  it  on  the  grass 
and  let  it  burn  out  like  a  lump  of  Greek  fire. 

"Messieurs,"  I  said,  cocking  and  uncocking  my 
pistol,  "it  is  not  because  this  man  is  a  dangerous, 
political  criminal  and  a  maker  of  explosives  that  the 

53 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

government  has  sent  me  here  to  arrest  him  ...  or 
kill  him.  It  is  because  he  is  a  common  thief,  ...  a 
thief  who  steals  crucifixes,  .  .  .  like  this  one — " 

I  brushed  aside  a  pile  of  papers  in  the  drawer  and 
drew  out  a  big  gold  crucifix,  marvellously  chiselled 
from  a  lump  of  the  solid  metal.  ...  "A  thief,"  I  con- 
tinued, "who  strips  the  diamonds  from  crucifixes, 
...  as  this  has  been  stripped,  .  .  .  and  who  sells 
a  single  stone  to  a  Jew  in  Strasbourg,  named  Fishel 
Cohen,  .  .  .  now  in  prison  to  confront  our  friend  Buck- 
hurst." 

In  the  dead  silence  I  heard  Dr.  Delmont's  heavy 
breathing.  Tavernier  gave  a  dry  sob  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  thin  hands.  The  young  Countess 
stood  motionless,  frightfully  white,  staring  at  Buck- 
hurst,  who  had  folded  his  arms. 

Sylvia  Elven  touched  her,  but  the  Countess  shook 
her  off  and  walked  straight  to  Buckhurst. 

"  Look  at  me,"  she  said.  "  I  have  promised  you 
my  friendship,  my  faith  and  trust  and  support.  And 
now  I  say  to  you,  I  believe  in  you.  Tell  them  where 
that  crucifix  came  from." 

Buckhurst  looked  at  me,  long  enough  to  see  that 
the  end  of  his  rope  had  come.  Then  he  slowly  turned 
his  deadly  eyes  on  the  girl  before  him. 

Scarlet  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  she  stood  there,  utterly 
stunned.  The  white  edges  of  Buckhurst's  teeth  began 
to  show  again ;  for  an  instant  I  thought  he  meant  to 
strike  her.  Then  the  sudden  double  beat  of  horses' 
hoofs  broke  out  along  the  avenue  below,  and,  through 
the  red  sunset  I  saw  a  dozen  horsemen  come  scampering 
up  the  drive  toward  us. 

"They've  sent  me  lancers  instead  of  gendarmes 
for  your  escort,"  I  remarked  to  Dr.  Delmont;  at  the 
same  moment  I  stepped  out  into  the  driveway  to  sig- 
nal the  riders,  raising  my  hand. 

54 


PRISONERS 

Instantly  a  pistol  flashed  —  then  another  and  an- 
other, and  a  dozen  harsh  voices  shouted:  "Hourra! 
Hourra!  Preussenl" 

"Mille  tonnerrel"  roared  Delmont;  "the  Prussians 
are  here!" 

"  Look  out !  Stand  back  there  I  Get  the  women 
back!"  I  cried,  as  an  Uhlan  wheeled  his  horse  straight 
through  a  bed  of  geraniums  and  fired  his  horse-pistol 
at  me. 

Delmont  dragged  the  young  Countess  to  the  shelter 
of  an  elm ;  Sylvia  Elven  and  Ta vernier  followed ;  Buck- 
hurst  ran  to  the  carriage  and  leaped  in. 

"No  resistance!"  bellowed  Delmont,  as  Bazard 
snatched  up  the  pistol  I  had  taken  from  Buckhurst. 
But  the  invalid  had  already  fired  at  a  horseman,  and 
had  gone  down  under  the  merciless  hoofs  with  a  lance 
through  his  face. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  shoot  Buckhurst,  and  I 
started  for  him. 

Then,  in  front  of  me,  a  horse  galloped  into  the  table 
and  fell  with  a  crash,  hurling  his  rider  at  my  feet.  I 
can  see  him  yet  sprawling  there  on  the  lawn,  a  lank, 
red-faced  fellow,  his  helmet  smashed  in,  and  his  spurred 
boots  sticking  fast  in  the  sod. 

Helter-skelter  through  the  trees  came  the  rest  of 
the  Uhlans,  shouting  their  hoarse  "  Hourra  I  Hourra ! 
Preussen!" — white-and-black  pennons  streaming  from 
their  lance-heads,  pistols  flashing  in  the  early  dusk. 

I  ran  past  Bazard's  trampled  body  and  fired  at  an 
Uhlan  who  had  seized  the  horses  which  were  attached 
to  the  carriage  where  Buckhurst  sat.  The  Uhlan's 
horse  reared  and  plunged,  carrying  him  away  at  a 
frightful  pace,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  hit  him 
or  not,  but  he  dropped  his  pistol,  and  I  picked  it  up  and 
fired  at  another  cavalryman  who  shouted  and  put 
his  horse  straight  at  me. 

55 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Again  I  ran  around  the  wagon,  through  a  clump  of 
syringa  bushes,  and  up  the  stone  steps  to  the  terrace, 
and  after  me  galloped  one  of  those  incomparable  cos- 
sack  riders — an  Uhlan,  lance  in  rest,  setting  his  wiry 
little  horse  to  the  stone  steps  with  a  loud  "Hourra!" 

It  was  too  steep  a  grade  for  the  gallant  horse.  I  flung 
my  pistol  in  the  animal's  face  and  the  poor  brute  reared 
straight  up  and  fell  backward,  rolling  over  and  over 
with  his  unfortunate  rider,  and  falling  with  a  tremen- 
dous splash  into  the  pool  below. 

"In  God's  name  stop  that!"  roared  Delmont,  from 
below.  "  Give  up,  Scarlett !  They  mean  us  no  harm \" 

I  could  see  the  good  doctor  on  the  lawn,  waving  his 
handkerchief  frantically  at  me;  in  a  group  behind 
stood  the  Countess  and  Sylvia ;  Ta vernier  was  kneeling 
beside  Hazard's  body;  two  Uhlans  were  raising  their 
stunned  comrade  from  the  wreck  of  the  table;  other 
Uhlans  cantered  toward  the  foot  of  the  terrace  above 
which  I  stood. 

"Come  down,  hussar!"  called  an  officer.  "We  re- 
spect your  uniform." 

"Will  you  parley?"  I  asked,  listening  intently  for 
the  gallop  of  my  promised  gendarmes.  If  I  could 
only  gain  time  and  save  Buckhurst.  He  was  there 
in  the  carriage;  I  had  seen  him  spring  into  it  when 
the  Germans  burst  in  among  the  trees. 

"Foulez-fous  fous  rendre?  Oui  ou  non?"  shouted 
the  officer,  in  his  terrible  French. 

"  Eh  bien,  .  .  .  non ! "  I  cried,  and  ran  for  the  chateau. 

I  heard  the  Uhlans  dismount  and  run  clattering  and 
jingling  up  the  stone  steps.  As  I  gained  the  doorway 
they  shot  at  me,  but  I  only  fled  the  faster,  springing 
up  the  stairway.  Here  I  stood,  sabre  in  hand,  ready 
to  stop  the  first  man. 

Up  the  stairs  rushed  three  Uhlans,  sabres  shining 
in  the  dim  light  from  the  window  behind  me;  I  laid 

56 


PRISONERS 

my  forefinger  flat  on  the  blade  of  my  sabre  and 
shortened  my  arm  for  a  thrust — then  there  came  a 
blinding  flash,  a  roar,  and  I  was  down,  trying  to  rise, 
until  a  clinched  fist  struck  me  in  the  face  and  I  fell 
flat  on  my  back. 

Without  any  emotion  whatever  I  saw  an  Uhlan 
raise  his  sabre  to  finish  me;  also  I  saw  a  yellow-and- 
black  sleeve  interposed  between  death  and  myself. 

"No  butchery!"  growled  the  big  officer  who  had 
summoned  me  from  the  lawn.  "Cursed  pig,  you'd 
sabre  your  own  grandmother!  Lift  him,  Sepp!  You, 
there,  Loisel! — lift  him  up.  Is  he  gone?" 

"He  is  alive,  Herr  Rittmeister,"  said  a  soldier,  but 
his  back  is  broken." 

"It  isn't,"  I  said. 

" Herr  Je!"  muttered  the  Rittmeister;  "an  eel,  and  a 
Frenchman,  and  nine  long  lives!  Here,  you  hussar, 
what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"  One  of  them  shot  me ;  I  thought  it  was  to  be  sabres," 
said  I,  weakly. 

"And  why  the  devil  wasn't  it  sabres!"  roared  the 
officer,  turning  on  his  men.  "One  to  three — and 
six  more  below!  Sepp,  you  disgust  me.  Carry  him 
out!" 

I  groaned  as  they  lifted  me.  "  Easy  there!"  growled 
the  officer,  "  don't  pull  him  that  way.  Now,  young 
hell-cat,  set  your  teeth;  you  have  eight  more  lives 
yet." 

They  got  me  out  to  the  terrace,  and  carried  me  to 
the  lawn.  One  of  the  men  brought  a  cup  of  water 
from  the  pool. 

"  Herr  Rittmeister,"  I  said,  faintly,  "  I  had  a  prisoner 
here;  he  should  be  in  the  carriage.  Is  he?" 

The  officer  walked  briskly  over  to  the  carriage. 
"Nobody  here  but  two  women  and  a  scared  peasant!" 
he  called  out. 

57 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

As  I  lay  still  staring  up  into  the  sky,  I  heard  the 
Rittmeister  addressing  Dr.  Delmont  in  angry  tones. 
"By  every  law  of  civilized  war  I  ought  to  hang  you 
and  your  friend  there!  Civilians  who  fire  on  troops 
are  treated  that  way.  But  I  won't.  Your  foolish 
companion  lies  yonder  with  a  lance  through  his  mouth. 
He's  dead;  I  say  nothing.  For  you,  I  have  no  re- 
spect. But  I  have  for  that  hell-cat  who  did  his  duty. 
You  civilians — you  go  to  the  devil!" 

"Are  not  your  prisoners  sacred  from  insult?"  asked 
the  doctor,  angrily. 

"  Prisoners !  My  prisoners  1  You  compliment  your- 
self!  Loisell  Send  those  impudent  civilians  into  the 
house!  I  won't  look  at  them!  They  make  me  sick!" 

The  astonished  doctor  attempted  to  take  his  stand 
by  me,  offering  his  services,  but  the  troopers  hustled 
him  and  poor  Tavernier  off  up  the  terrace  steps. 

"  The  two  ladies  in  the  carriage,  Herr  Rittmeister?" 
said  a  cavalryman,  coming  up  at  salute. 

"What?  Ladies?  Oh  yes."  Then  he  muttered 
in  his  mustache:  "Always  around  —  always  every- 
where. They  can't  stay  there.  I  want  that  carriage. 
Sepp!" 

"At  orders,  Herr  Rittmeister!" 

"Carry  that  gentleman  to  the  carriage.  Place 
Schwartz  and  Ruppert  in  the  wagon  yonder.  Get 
straw — you,  Brauer,  bring  straw — and  toss  in  those 
boxes,  if  there  is  room.  Where's  Hofman?" 

"In  the  pool,  Herr  Rittmeister." 

"  Take  him  out,"  said  the  officer,  soberly.  "  Uhlans 
don't  abandon  their  dead." 

Two  soldiers  lifted  me  again  and  bore  me  away  in 
the  darkness.  I  was  perfectly  conscious. 

And  all  the  while  I  was  listening  for  the  gallop  of 
my  gendarmes,  not  that  I  cared  very  much,  now  that 
Buckhurst  was  gone. 

58 


PRISONERS 

"Herr  Rittmeister,"  I  said,  as  they  laid  me  in  the 
carriage,  "ask  the  Countess  de  Vassart  if  she  will 
let  me  say  good-bye  to  her." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  the  officer,  promptly. 
"Madame,  here  is  a  polite  young  gentleman  who 
desires  to  make  his  adieux.  Permit  me,  madame — 
he  is  here  in  the  dark.  Sepp!  fall  back!  Loisel,  ad- 
vance ten  paces!  Halt!" 

"Is  it  you,  Monsieur  Scarlett?"  came  an  unsteady 
voice,  from  the  darkness. 

"Yes,  madame.     Can  you  forgive  me?" 

"Forgive  you?  My  poor  friend,  I  have  nothing  to 
forgive.  Are  you  badly  hurt,  Monsieur  Scarlett?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  muttered. 

Suddenly  the  chapel  bell  of  La  Trappe  rang  out  a 
startling  peal;  the  Prussian  captain  shouted:  "Stop 
that  bell!  Shoot  every  civilian  in  the  house!"  But 
the  Uhlans,  who  rushed  up  the  terrace,  found  the 
great  doors  bolted  and  the  lower  windows  screened 
with  steel  shutters. 

On  the  battlements  of  the  south  wing  a  red  radiance 
grew  brighter;  somebody  had  thrown  wood  into  the 
iron  basket  of  the  ancient  beacon,  and  set  fire  to  it." 

"That  teaches  me  a  lesson!"  bawled  the  enraged 
Rittmeister,  shaking  his  fist  up  at  the  brightening 
alarm  signal. 

He  vaulted  into  his  saddle,  wheeled  his  horse  and 
rode  up  to  the  peasant,  Brauer,  who,  frightened  to  the 
verge  of  stupidity,  sat  on  the  carriage-box. 

"  Do  you  know  the  wood-road  that  leads  to  Gunstett 
through  the  foot-hills?"  he  demanded,  controlling 
his  fury  with  a  strong  effort. 

The  blank  face  of  the  peasant  was  answer  enough; 
the  Rittmeister  glared  around;  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
Countess. 

"You  know  this  country,  madame?" 

59 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Will  you  set  us  on  our  way  through  the  Gunstett 
hill-road?" 

"No." 

The  chapel  bell  was  clanging  wildly;  the  beacon 
shot  up  in  a  whirling  column  of  sparks  and  red  smoke. 

"Put  that  woman  into  the  carriage!"  bellowed  the 
officer.  "I'm  cursed  if  I  leave  her  to  set  the  whole 
country  yapping  at  our  heels!  Loisel,  put  her  in 
beside  the  prisoner!  Madame,  it  is  useless  to  resist. 
Hark!  What's  that  sound  of  galloping?" 

I  listened.  I  heard  nothing  save  the  clamor  of  the 
chapel  bell. 

An  Uhlan  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  listening  Countess ;  she  tried  to  draw  back,  but  he 
pushed  her  brutally  into  the  carriage,  and  she  stumbled 
and  fell  into  the  cushions  beside  me. 

"Uhlans,  into  your  saddles!"  cried  the  Rittmeister, 
sharply.  "  Two  men  to  the  wagon ! — a  man  on  the  box 
there !  Here  you,  Jacques  Bonhomme,  drive  carefully 
or  I'll  hang  you  higher  than  the  Strasbourg  clock. 
Are  the  wounded  in  the  straw?  Sepp,  take  the  rider- 
less horses.  Peloton,  attention!  Draw  sabres!  March! 
Trot!" 

Fever  had  already  begun  to  turn  my  head ;  the  jolting 
of  the  carriage  brought  me  to  my  senses  at  times; 
at  times,  too,  I  could  hear  the  two  wounded  Uhlans 
groaning  in  the  wagon  behind  me,  the  tramping  of 
the  cavalry  ahead,  the  dull  rattle  of  lance  butts  in  the 
leather  stirrup-boots. 

If  I  could  only  have  fainted,  but  I  could  not,  and 
the  agony  grew  so  intense  that  I  bit  my  lip  through 
to  choke  the  scream  that  strained  my  throat. 

Once  the  carriage  stopped;  in  the  darkness  I  heard 
somebody  whisper:  "There  go  the  French  riders!" 
And  I  fancied  I  heard  a  far  echo  of  hoof-strokes  along 

60 


PRISONERS 

the  road  to  La  Trappe.  It  might  have  been  the  fancy 
of  an  intermittent  delirium;  it  may  have  been  my 
delayed  gendarmes — I  never  knew.  And  the  carriage 
presently  moved  on  more  smoothly,  as  though  we 
were  now  on  one  of  those  even  military  high-roads 
which  traverse  France  from  Luxembourg  to  the  sea. 

Which  way  we  were  going  I  did  not  know,  I  did 
not  care.  Absurdly  mingled  with  sick  fancies  came 
flashes  of  reason,  when  I  could  see  the  sky  frosted  with 
silver,  and  little,  bluish  stars  peeping  down.  At  times 
I  recognized  the  mounted  men  around  me  as  Prussian 
Uhlans,  and  weakly  wondered  by  what  deviltry  they 
had  got  into  France,  and  what  malignant  spell  they 
cast  over  the  land  that  the  very  stones  did  not  rise  up 
and  smite  them  from  their  yellow-and-black  saddles. 

Once — it  was,  I  think,  very  near  daybreak — I  came 
out  of  a  dream  in  which  I  was  swimming  through 
oceans  of  water,  drinking  as  I  swam.  The  carriage 
had  stopped ;  I  could  not  see  the  lancers,  but  presently 
I  heard  them  all  talking  in  loud,  angry  voices.  There 
appeared  to  be  some  houses  near  by;  I  heard  a  dog 
barking,  a  great  outcry  of  pigs  and  feathered  fowls, 
the  noise  of  a  scuffle,  a  trampling  of  heavy  boots,  a 
shot! 

Then  the  terrible  voice  of  the  Rittmeister:  "Hang 
that  man  to  his  barn  gate!  Pig  of  an  assassin,  I'll 
teach  you  to  murder  German  soldiers!" 

A  woman  began  to  scream  without  ceasing. 

"Burn  that  house!"  bellowed  the  Rittmeister. 

Through  the  prolonged  screaming  I  heard  the  crash 
of  window-glass;  presently  a  dull  red  light  grew  out 
of  the  gloom,  brighter  and  brighter.  The  screaming 
never  ceased. 

"Uhlans!  Mount!"  came  the  steady  voice  of  the 
Rittmeister;  the  carriage  started.  Almost  at  the  word 
the  darkness  turned  to  flame;  against  the  raging 

61 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

furnace  of  a.  house  on  fire  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man, 
inky  black,  hanging  from  the  high  cross-bar  of  the 
cow-yard  gate,  and  past  him  filed  the  shadowy  horse- 
men, lances  slanting  backward  from  their  stirrups. 

The  last  I  remember  was  seeing  the  dead  man's 
naked  feet — for  they  hanged  him  in  his  night-shirt — 
and  the  last  I  heard  was  that  awful  screaming  from 
the  red  shadows  that  flickered  across  the  fields  of  uncut 
wheat. 

For  presently  my  madness  began  again,  and  again 
I  was  bathed  to  the  mouth  in  cold,  sweet  waters,  and 
I  drank  as  I  swam  lazily  in  the  sunshine. 

My  next  lucid  interval  came  from  pain  almost  un- 
endurable. We  were  fording  a  river  in  bright  star- 
light; the  carriage  bumped  across  the  stones,  water 
washed  and  slopped  over  the  carriage  floor.  To  right 
and  left,  Prussian  lancers  were  riding,  and  I  saw  the 
water  boiling  under  their  horses  and  their  long  lances 
aslant  the  stars. 

But  there  were  more  horsemen  now,  scores  and 
scores  of  them,  trampling  through  the  shallow  river. 
And  beyond  I  could  see  a  line  of  cannon,  wallowing 
through  the  water,  shadowy  artillerymen  clinging 
to  forge  and  caisson,  mounted  men  astride  straining 
teams,  tall  officers  on  either  flank,  sitting  their  horses 
motionless  in  mid-stream. 

The  carriage  stopped. 

"Are  you  suffering?"  came  a  low  voice,  close  to  my 
ear. 

"Madame,  could  I  have  a  little  of  that  water?"  I 
muttered. 

Very  gently  she  laid  me  back.  I  was  entirely  with- 
out power  to  move  below  my  waist,  or  to  support  my 
body. 

She  filled  my  cap  with  river  water  and  held  it  while 
I  drank.  After  I  had  my  fill  she  bathed  my  face, 

62 


PRISONERS 

passing  her  wet  hands  through  my  hair  and  over  my 
eyes.     The  carriage  moved  on. 
After  a  while  she  whispered. 

"  Are  you  awake?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"See  the  dawn — how  red  it  is  on  the  hills!  There 
are  vineyards  there  on  the  heights,  .  .  .  and  a  castle, 
.  .  .  and  soldiers  moving  out  across  the  river  mead- 
ows." 

The  rising  sun  was  shining  in  my  eyes  as  we  came 
to  a  halt  before  a  small  stone  bridge  over  which  a  col- 
umn of  cavalry  was  passing — Prussian  hussars,  by 
their  crimson  dolmans  and  little,  flat  busbies. 

Our  Uhlan  escort  grouped  themselves  about  us  to 
watch  the  hussars  defile  at  a  trot,  and  I  saw  the  Ritt- 
meister  rigidly  saluting  their  standards  as  they  bobbed 
past  above  a  thicket  of  sabres. 

"What  are  these  Uhlans  doing?"  broke  in  a  nasal 
voice  behind  us;  an  officer,  followed  by  two  orderlies 
and  a  trumpeter,  came  galloping  up  through  the  mud. 

"Who's  that — a  dead  Frenchman?"  demanded  the 
officer,  leaning  over  the  edge  of  the  carriage  to  give 
me  a  near-sighted  stare.  Then  he  saw  the  Countess, 
stared  at  her,  and  touched  the  golden  peak  of  his  helmet. 

"At  your  service,  madame,"  he  said.  "Is  this  offi- 
cer dead?" 

"Dying,  general,"  said  the  Rittmeister,  at  salute. 

"  Then  he  will  not  require  these  men.  Herr  Ritt- 
meister, I  take  your  Uhlans  for  my  escort.  Madame, 
you  have  my  sympathy;  can  I  be  of  service?" 

He  spoke  perfect  French.  The  Countess  looked  up 
at  him  in  a  bewildered  way.  "You  cannot  mean  to 
abandon  this  dying  man  here?"  she  asked. 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  brusquely  by  the  Ritt- 
meister. "That  Frenchman  did  his  duty!" 

"Did  he?"  said  the  general,  staring  at  the  Countess. 

63 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Very  well ;  I  want  that  carriage,  but  I  won't  take  it. 
Give  the  driver  a  white  flag,  and  have  him  drive  into 
the  French  lines.  Herr  Rittmeister,  give  your  orders! 
Madame,  your  most  devoted!"  And  he  wheeled  his 
beautiful  horse  and  trotted  off  down  the  road,  while 
the  Rittmeister  hastily  tied  a  handkerchief  to  a  stick 
and  tossed  it  up  to  the  speechless  peasant  on  the  box. 

"Morsbronn  is  the  nearest  French  post!"  he  said, 
in  French.  Then  he  bent  from  his  horse  and  looked 
down  at  me. 

"  You  did  your  duty!"  he  snapped,  and,  barely  salut- 
ing the  Countess,  touched  spurs  to  his  mount  and  dis- 
appeared, followed  at  a  gallop  by  his  mud -splashed 
Uhlans. 


THE  IMMORTALS 

WHEN  I  became  conscious  again  I  was  lying  on 
a  table.    Two  men  were  leaning  over  me ;  a  third 
came  up,  holding  a  basin.     There  was  an  odor  of  car- 
bolic in  the  air. 

The  man  with  the  basin  made  a  horrid  grimace 
when  he  caught  my  eye ;  his  face  was  a  curious  golden 
yellow,  his  eyes  jet  black,  and  at  first  I  took  him  for 
a  fever  phantom. 

Then  my  bewildered  eyes  fastened  on  his  scarlet 
fez,  pulled  down  over  his  left  ear,  the  sky-blue  Zouave 
jacket,  with  its  bright-yellow  arabesques,  the  canvas 
breeches,  leggings  laced  close  over  the  thin  shins  and 
ankles  of  an  Arab.  And  I  knew  him  for  a  soldier  of 
African  riflemen,  one  of  those  brave  children  of  the 
desert  whom  we  called  "  Turcos,"  and  whose  faith 
in  the  greatness  of  France  has  never  faltered  since 
the  first  blue  battalion  of  Africa  was  formed  under 
the  eagles  of  the  First  Empire. 

"  Hallo,  Mustaphal"  I  said,  faintly;  "  what  are  they 
doing  to  me  now?" 

The  Turco's  golden-bronze  visage  relaxed ;  he  saluted 
me. 

"Macache  sabir,"  he  said;  "they  picked  a  bullet 
from  your  spine,  my  inspector." 

An  officer  in  the  uniform  of  a  staff-surgeon  came 
around  the  table  where  I  was  lying. 

65 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  Bon!"  he  exclaimed,  eying  me  sharply  through  his 
gold-rimmed  glasses.  "Can  you  feel  your  hind -legs 
now,  young  man?" 

I  could  feel  them  all  too  intensely,  and  I  said  so. 

The  surgeon  began  to  turn  down  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  button  his  cuffs,  saying,  "You're  lucky  to  have 
a  pain  in  your  legs."  Turning  to  the  Turco,  he  added, 
"  Lift  him !"  And  the  giant  rifleman  picked  me  up  and 
laid  me  in  a  long  chair  by  the  window. 

"Your  case  is  one  of  those  amusing  cases,"  con- 
tinued the  surgeon,  buckling  on  his  sword  and  revol- 
ver; "  very  amusing,  I  assure  you.  As  for  the  bullet,  I 
could  have  turned  it  out  with  a  straw,  only  it  rested 
there  exactly  where  it  stopped  the  use  of  those  long 
legs  of  yours !  —  a  fine  example  of  temporary  reflex 
paralysis,  and  no  hemorrhage  to  speak  of — nothing 
to  swear  about,  young  man.  By-the-way,  you  ought 
to  go  to  bed  for  a  few  days." 

He  clasped  his  short  baldric  over  his  smartly  buttoned 
tunic.  The  room  was  shaking  with  the  discharges  of 
cannon. 

"A  millimetre  farther  and  that  bullet  would  have 
cracked  your  spine.  Remember  that  and  keep  off 
your  feet.  Ouf!  The  cannon  are  tuning  up!"  as  a 
terrible  discharge  shattered  the  glass  in  the  window- 
panes  beside  me. 

"Where  am  I,  doctor?"  I  asked. 

"Parbleu,  in  Morsbronn!  Can't  you  hear  the  or- 
chestra, zim-bam-zim!  The  Prussians  are  playing 
their  Wagner  music  for  us.  Here,  swallow  this.  How 
do  you  feel  now?" 

"Sleepy.     Did  you  say  a  day  or  two,  doctor?" 

"I  said  a  week  or  two — perhaps  longer.  I'll  look 
in  this  evening  if  I'm  not  up  to  my  chin  in  amputations. 
Take  these  every  hour  if  in  pain.  Go  to  sleep,  my  son. " 

With  a  paternal  tap  on  mv  head,  he  drew  on  his 
66  ~ 


THE    IMMORTALS 

scarlet,  gold-banded  cap,  tightened  the  check  strap, 
and  walked  out  of  the  room.  Down -stairs  I  heard 
him  cursing  because  his  horse  had  been  shot.  I  never 
saw  him  again. 

Dozing  feverishly,  hearing  the  cannon  through 
troubled  slumber,  I  awoke  toward  noon  quite  free 
from  any  considerable  pain,  but  thirsty  and  restless, 
and  numbed  to  the  hips.  Alarmed,  I  strove  to  move 
my  feet,  and  succeeded.  Then,  freed  from  the  haunt- 
ing terror  of  paralysis,  I  fell  to  pinching  my  legs  with 
satisfaction,  my  eyes  roving  about  in  search  of  water. 

The  room  where  I  lay  was  in  disorder;  it  appeared 
to  be  completely  furnished  with  well-made  old  pieces, 
long  out  of  date,  but  not  old  enough  to  be  desirable. 
Chairs,  sofas,  tables  were  all  fashioned  in  that  poor 
design  which  marked  the  early  period  of  the  Consulate ; 
the  mirror  was  a  fine  sheet  of  glass  imbedded  in 
Pompeian  and  Egyptian  designs ;  the  clock,  which  had 
stopped,  was  a  meaningless  lump  of  gilt  and  marble, 
supported  on  gilt  sphinxes.  Over  the  bed  hung  a 
tarnished  canopy  broidered  with  a  coronet,  which,  from 
the  strawberry  leaves  and  the  pearls  raised  above  them, 
I  took  to  be  the  coronet  of  a  count  of  English  origin. 

The  room  appeared  to  be  very  old,  and  I  knew  the 
house  must  have  stood  for  centuries  somewhere  along 
the  single  street  of  Morsbronn,  though  I  could  not 
remember  seeing  any  building  in  the  village  which, 
judging  from  the  exterior,  seemed  likely  to  contain 
such  a  room  as  this. 

The  nearer  and  heavier  cannon-r.hots  had  ceased,  but 
the  window-sashes  hummed  with  the  steady  thunder 
of  a  battle  going  on  somewhere  among  the  mountains. 
Knowing  the  Alsatian  frontier  fairly  well,  I  understood 
ihat  a  battle  among  the  mountains  must  mean  that 
our  First  Corps  had  been  attacked,  and  that  we  were 
on  the  defensive  on  French  soil. 

67 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

The  booming  of  the  guns  was  unbroken,  as  steady 
and  sustained  as  the  eternal  roar  of  a  cataract.  At 
moments  I  believed  that  I  could  distinguish  the  staccato 
crashes  of  platoon  firing,  but  could  not  be  certain  in 
the  swelling  din. 

As  I  lay  there  on  my  long,  cushioned  chair,  burning 
with  that  insatiable  thirst  which,  to  thoroughly  ap- 
preciate, one  must  be  wounded,  the  door  opened  and  a 
Turco  soldier  came  into  the  room  and  advanced  toward 
me  on  tip-toe. 

He  wore  full  uniform,  was  fully  equipped,  crimson 
chschia,  snowy  gaiters,  and  terrible  sabre-bayonet. 

I  beckoned  him,  and  the  tall,  bronzed  fellow  came 
up,  smiling,  showing  his  snowy,  pointed  teeth  under 
a  crisp  beard. 

"Water,  Mustapha,"  I  motioned  with  stiffened  lips, 
and  the  good  fellow  unslung  his  blue  water-bottle  and 
set  it  to  my  burning  mouth. 

"Merci,  mon  brave!"  I  said.  "May  you  dwell  in 
Paradise  with  AH,  the  fourth  Caliph,  the  Lion  of  God!" 

The  Turco  stared,  muttered  the  Tekbir  in  a  low  voice, 
bent  and  kissed  my  hands. 

"  Were  you  once  an  officer  of  our  African  battalions?" 
he  asked,  in  the  Arab  tongue. 

"  Sous  -  officier  of  spahi  cavalry,"  I  said,  smiling. 
'  And  you  are  a  Kabyle  mountaineer  from  Constantine, 
I  see." 

"  It  is  true  as  I  recite  the  fatha,"  cried  the  great  fellow, 
beaming  on  me.  "  We  Kabyles  love  our  officers  and 
bear  witness  to  the  unity  of  God,  too.  I  am  a  marabout, 
m  inspector,  Third  Turcos,  and  I  am  anxious  to  have 
a  Prussian  ask  me  who  were  my  seven  ancestors." 

The  nrasic  of  his  long  -  forgotten  tongue  refreshed 
me ;  old  scenes  and  memories  of  the  camp  at  Oran,  the 
never-to- be-torgotten  cavalry  with  the  scarlet  cloaks, 
rushed  on  me  thick  and  last ;  incidents,  trivial  matters 

68 


THE    IMMORTAL^ 

of  the  bazaars,  faces  oi  comrades  dead,  came  to  me 
in  flashes  My  eyes  grew  moist,  my  throat  swelled,  I 
whimpered : 

"  it  is  all  very  well,  mon  enfant,  but  I'm  here  with 
a  holo  in  me  stuffed  full  of  lint,  and  you  have  your 
two  good  arms  and  as  many  legs  with  which  to  ex- 
plain to  the  Prussians  who  your  seven  ancestors  may 
be.  Give  me  a  drink,  in  God's  name!" 

Again  he   held   up  the  blue   water-bottle,   saying, 
gravely:  "We   both  worship   the  same   God,  my  in 
specter,  call  Him  what  we  will." 

After  a  moment  I  said:  "Is  it  a  battle  or  a  bous- 
culade?  But  I  need  not  ask;  the  cannon  tell  me  enough. 
Are  they  storming  the  heights,  Mustapha?" 

"Macache  comprendir,"  said  the  soldier,  dropping 
into  patois.  "  There  is  much  noise,  but  we  Turcos  are 
here  in  Morsbronn,  and  we  have  seen  nothing  but 
sparrows." 

I  listened  for  a  moment ;  the  sound  of  the  cannonade 
appeared  to  be  steadily  receding  westward. 

"  It  seems  to  me  like  retreat!"  I  said,  sharply. 

"Ritrite?    Quis  qui  cia  ritrite?" 

I  looked  at  the  simple  fellow  with  tears  in  my 
eyes. 

"You  would  not  understand  if  I  told  you/'  said  I. 
"Are  you  detailed  to  look  after  me?" 

He  said  he  was,  and  I  informed  him  that  I  needed 
nobody;  that  it  was  much  more  important  for  every- 
body that  he  should  rejoin  his  battalion  in  the  street 
below,  where  even  now  I  could  hear  the  Algerian  bugles 
blowing  a  silvery  sonnerie — "  Garde  a  vous  !" 

"  I  am  Salah  Ben- Ahmed,  a  marabout  of  the  Third 
Turcos,"  he  said,  proudly,  "  and  I  have  yet  to  explain 
to  these  Prussians  who  my  seven  ancestors  weie. 
Have  I  my  inspector's  permission  to  go?" 

He  was  fairly  trembling  as  the  imperative  clangor 

6q 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

of  the  bugles  rang  through  the  street ;  his  fine  nostrils 
quivered,  his  eyes  glittered  like  a  cobra's. 

"Go,  Salah  Ben -Ahmed,  the  marabout/'  said  I, 
laughing. 

Th  soldier  stiffened  to  attention;  his  bronzed  hand 
flew  to  his  scarlet  fez,  and,  "Salute!  O  my  inspector!" 
he  cried,  sonorously,  and  was  gone  at  a  bound. 

That  breathless  unrest  which  always  seizes  me  when 
men  are  at  one  another's  throats  set  me  wriggling 
and  twitching,  and  peering  from  the  window  through 
which  I  couid  not  see  because  of  the  blinds.  Command 
after  command  was  ringing  out  in  the  street  below. 
"Forward!59  shouted  a  resonant  voice,  and  "Forward! 
forward!  forward!"  echoed  the  voices  of  the  captains, 
distant  and  more  distant,  then  drowned  in  the  rolling  of 
kettle-drums  and  the  silvery  clan^  of  Moorish  cymbals 

The  band  music  of  the  Algerian  infantry  died  away 
in  the  distant  tumult  of  the  guns ;  faintly,  at  moments, 
I  could  still  hear  the  shrill  whistle  of  their  flutes,  the 
tinkle  of  the  silver  chimes  on  their  toug ;  then  a  blank, 
filled  with  the  hollow  roar  of  battle,  then  a  clear  note 
from  their  reeds,  a  tinkle,  an  echoing  chime — and  noth- 
ing, save  the  immense  monotone  of  the  cannonade. 

I  had  been  lying  there  motionless  for  an  hour,  my 
head  on  my  hand,  snivelling,  when  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door,  and  I  hastily  buttoned  my  blood-stained 
shirt  to  the  throat,  threw  a  tunic  over  my  shoulders, 
and  cried,  "Come  in!" 

A  trick  of  memory  and  perhaps  of  physical  weak- 
ness had  driven  from  my  mind  all  recollection  of  the 
Countess  de  Vassart  since  I  had  come  to  my  senses 
under  the  surgeon's  probe.  But  at  the  touch  of  her 
fingers  on  the  door  outside,  I  knew  her — I  was  cer- 
tain that  it  could  be  nobody  but  my  Countess,  who 
had  turned  aside  in  her  gentle  pilgrimage  to  lift  this 
i^azarus  from  the  waysides  of  a  hostile  world. 

70 


THE    IMMORTALS 

She  entered  noiselessly,  bearing  a  bowl  of  broth  and 
some  bread ;  but  when  she  saw  me  sitting  there  with 
eyes  and  nose  all  red  and  swollen  from  snivelling  she 
set  the  bowl  on  a  table  and  hurried  to  my  side. 

"What  is  it?  Is  the  pain  so  dreadful?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"No — oh  no.  I'm  only  a  fool,  and  quite  hungry, 
madame." 

She  brought  the  broth  and  bread  and  a  glass  of  the 
most  exquisite  wine  I  ever  tasted — a  wine  that  seemed 
to  brighten  the  whole  room  with  its  liquid  sunshine. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are?"  she  asked,  gravely. 

"  Oh  yes — in  Morsbronn." 

"  And  in  whose  house,  monsieur?" 

"I  don't  know — "  I  glanced  instinctively  at  the 
tarnished  coronet  on  trie  canopy  above  the  bed.  "  Do 
you  know,  Madame  la  Comtesse?" 

"I  ought  to,"  she  said,  faintly  amused.  "I  was 
born  in  this  room.  It  was  to  this  house  that  I  desired 
to  come  before — my  exile." 

Her  eyes  softened  as  they  rested  first  on  one  familiar 
object,  then  on  another. 

"  The  house  has  always  been  in  our  family,"  she 
said.  "  It  was  once  one  of  those  fortified  farms  in  the 
times  when  every  hamlet  was  a  petty  kingdom — like 
the  King  of  Yvetot's  domain.  Doubtless  the  ancient 
Tr6courts  also  wore  cotton  night-caps  for  their  cor- 
onets." 

"I  remember  now,"  said  I,  "a  stone  turret  wedged 
in  between  two  houses.  Is  this  it?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  farm.  My  ancestors 
built  this  crazy  old  row  of  houses  for  their  tenants." 

After  a  silence  I  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  look  out  of 
the  window." 

She  hesitated.    "  I  don't  suppose  it  could  harm  you?" 

"It  will  harm  me  if  I  don't,"  said  I. 

71 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

She  went  to  the  window  and  folded  up  the  varnished 
blinds. 

"  How  dreadful  the  cannonade  is  growing,"  she  said. 
"Wait!  don't  think  of  moving!  I  will  push  you  close 
to  the  window,  where  you  can  see." 

The  tower  in  which  my  room  was  built  projected 
from  the  rambling  row  of  houses,  so  that  my  narrow 
window  commanded  a  view  of  almost  the  entire  length 
of  the  street.  This  street  comprised  all  there  was  of 
Morsbronn;  it  lay  between  a  double  rank  of  houses 
constructed  of  plaster  and  beams,  and  surmounted  by 
high -pointed  gables  and  slated  or  tiled  roofs,  so  fan- 
tastic that  they  resembled  steeples. 

Down  the  street  I  could  see  the  house  that  I  had  left 
twenty-four  hours  before,  never  dreaming  what  my 
journey  to  La  Trappe  held  in  store  for  me.  One  or 
two  dismounted  soldiers  of  the  Third  Hussars  sat  in 
the  doorway,  listening  to  the  cannon;  but,  except  for 
these  listless  troopers,  a  few  nervous  sparrows,  and 
here  and  there  a  skulking  peasant,  slinking  off  with  a 
load  of  household  furniture  on  his  back,  the  street 
was  deserted. 

Everywhere  shutters  had  been  put  up,  blinds  closed, 
curtains  drawn.  Not  a  shred  of  smoke  curled  from 
the  chimneys  of  these  deserted  houses;  the  heavy 
gables  cast  sinister  shadows  over  closed  doors  and 
gates  barred  and  loci—ti,  and  it  made  me  think  of  an 
unseaworthy  ship,  prepared  for  a  storm,  so  bare  and 
battened  down  was  this  long,  dreary  commune,  lying 
there  in  the  August  sun. 

Beside  the  window,  close  to  my  face,  was  a  small, 
square  loop-hole,  doubtless  once  used  for  arquebus 
fire.  It  tired  me  to  lean  on  the  window,  so  I  contented 
myself  with  lying  back  and  turning  my  head,  and  1 
could  see  quite  as  well  through  the  loop-hole  as  from 
the  window. 

72 


THE    IMMORTALS 

Lying  there,  watching  the  slow  shadows  crawling 
out  over  the  sidewalk,  I  had  been  for  some  minutes 
thinking  of  my  friend  Mr.  Buckhurst,  when  I  heard 
the  young  Countess  stirring  in  the  room  behind  me. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  a  cripple?"  she  said,  as  I 
turned  my  head. 

"Oh  no,  indeed!"  said  I. 

"Nor  die?"  she  added,  seriously. 

"  How  could  a  man  die  with  an  angel  straight  from 
heaven  to  guard  him!  Pardon,  I  am  only  grateful, 
not  impertinent."  I  looked  at  her  humbly,  and  she 
looked  at  me  without  the  slightest  expression. 

Oh,  it  \vas  all  very  well  for  the  Countess  de  Vassart 
to  tuck  up  her  skirts  and  rake  hay,  and  live  with  a 
lot  of  half-crazy  apostles,  and  throw  her  fortune  to 
the  proletariat  and  her  reputation  to  the  dogs.  She 
could  do  it;  she  was  Eline  Cyprienne  de  Tr£court, 
Countess  de  Vassart ;  and  if  her  relatives  didn't  like 
her  views,  that  was  their  affair ;  and  if  the  Faubourg 
Saint -Germain  emitted  moans,  that  concerned  the 
noble  faubourg  and  not  James  Scarlett,  a  policeman 
attached  to  a  division  of  paid  mercenaries. 

Oh  yes,  it  was  all  very  well  for  the  Countess  de 
Vassart  to  play  at  democracy  with  her  unbalanced 
friends,  but  it  was  also  well  for  Americans  to  remember 
that  she  was  French,  and  that  this  was  France,  and 
that  in  France  a  countess  was  a  countess  until  she  was 
buried  in  the  family  vault,  whether  she  had  chosen  to 
live  as  a  countess  or  as  Doll  Dairymaid. 

The  young  gill  looked  at  me  curiously,  studying 
me  with  those  exquisite  gray  eyes  of  hers.  Pensive, 
distraite,  she  sat  there,  the  delicate  contour  of  her  head 
outlined  against  the  sunny  window,  which  quivered 
with  the  slow  boom!  boom!  of  the  cannonade. 

"Are  you  English,  Monsieur  Scarlett?"  she  asked, 
quietly. 

73 


iflE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"American,  madame." 

"And  yet  you  take  service  under  an  emperor." 

"I  have  taken  harder  service  than  that." 

"Of  necessity?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

She  was  silent. 

"Would  it  amuse  you  to  hear  what  I  have  been?" 
I  said,  smiling 

"  That  is  not  the  word,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  To  hear 
of  hardship  helps  one  to  understand  the  world." 

The  cannonade  had  been  growing  so  loud  again 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  we  could  make  our- 
selves audible  to  each  other.  The  jar  of  the  discharges 
began  to  dislodge  bits  of  glass  and  little  triangular 
pieces  of  plaster,  and  the  solid  walls  of  the  tower  shook 
till  even  the  mirror  began  to  -way  and  the  tarnished 
gilt  sconces  to  quiver  in  their  sockets. 

"  I  wish  you  were  not  in  Morsbronn,"  I  said. 

"  I  feel  safer  here  in  my  own  house  than  I  should  at 
La  Trappe,"  she  replied. 

She  was  probably  thinking  of  the  dead  Uhlan  and 
of  poor  Bazard;  perhaps  of  the  wretched  exposure  of 
Buckhurst — the  man  she  had  trusted  and  who  had 
proved  to  be  a  swindler,  and  a  murderous  one  at  that. 

Suddenly  a  shell  fell  into  the  court-yard  opposite, 
bursting  immediately  in  a  cloud  of  gravel  which  rained 
against  our  turret  like  hail. 

Stunned  for  an  instant,  the  Countess  stood  there 
motionless,  her  face  turned  towards  the  window.  I 
struggled  to  sit  upright. 

She  looked  calmly  at  me;  the  color  came  back  into 
her  face,  and  in  spite  of  my  remonstrance  she  walked 
to  the  window,  closed  the  heavy  outside  shutters  and 
the  blinds.  As  she  was  fastening  them  I  heard  the 
whizzing  quaver  of  another  shell,  the  racket  of  its 
explosion,  the  crash  of  plaster. 

74 


THE    IMMORTALS 

"  Where  is  the  safest  place  for  us  to  stay?"  she  asked. 
Her  voice  was  perfectly  steady. 

"In  the  cellar.     I  beg  you  to  go  at  once." 

Bang!  a  shell  blew  up  in  a  shower  of  slates  and 
knocked  a  chimney  into  a  heap  of  bricks. 

"Do  you  insist  on  staying  by  that  loop-hole?"  she 
asked,  without  a  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  do/'  said  I.     "  Will  you  go  to  the  cellar?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  shortly. 

I  saw  her  walk  toward  the  rear  of  the  room,  hesitate, 
sink  down  by  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  lay  her  face  in 
the  pillow. 

Two  shells  burst  with  deafening  reports  in  the  street ; 
the  young  Countess  covered  her  face  with  both  hands. 
Shell  after  shell  came  howling,  whistling,  whizzing  into 
the  village;  the  two  hussars  had  disappeared,  but  a 
rx>mpany  of  Turcos  came  up  on  a  run  and  began  to  dig 
a  trench  across  the  street  a  hundred  yards  west  of  our 
turret. 

How  they  made  the  picks  and  shovels  fly!  Shells 
tore  through  the  air  over  them,  bursting  on  impact 
with  roof  and  chimney;  the  Turcos  tucked  up  their 
blue  sleeves,  spat  on  their  hands,  and  dug  away  like 
terriers,  while  their  officers,  smoking  the  eternal  ciga- 
rette, coolly  examined  the  distant  landscape  through 
their  field-glasses. 

Shells  rained  fast  on  Morsbronn;  nearer  and  nearer 
bellowed  the  guns;  the  plaster  ceiling  above  my  head 
cracked  and  fell  in  thin  flakes,  filling  the  room  with 
an  acrid,  smarting  dust.  Again  and  again  metal 
fragments  from  shells  rang  out  on  the  heavy  walls  of 
our  turret;  a  roof  opposite  sank  in;  flames  flickered 
up  through  clouds  of  dust;  a  heavy  yellow  smoke, 
swarming  with  sparks,  rolled  past  my  window. 

Down  the  street  a  dull  sound  grew  into  a  steady  roar ; 
the  Turcos  dropped  pick  and  shovel  and  seized  their  rifles. 

75 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  Garde  I  Garde  &  vous  I"  rang  their  startled  bugles ; 
the  tumult  increased  to  a  swelling  uproar,  shouting, 
cheering,  the  crash  of  shutters  and  of  glass,  and — 

"The  Prussians!"  bellowed  the  captain.  "Turcos 
— charge!" 

His  voice  was  lost;  a  yelling  mass  of  soldiery  burst 
into  view;  spiked  helmets  and  bayonets  glittering 
through  the  smoke,  the  Turcos  were  whirled  about 
like  brilliant  butterflies  in  a  tornado;  the  fusillade 
swelled  to  a  stupefying  din,  exploding  in  one  terrible 
crash ;  and,  wrapped  in  lightning,  the  Prussian  onset 
passed. 

From  the  stairs  below  came  the  sound  of  a  voiceless 
struggle,  the  trample  and  panting  and  clicking  of 
steel,  till  of  a  sudden  a  voice  burst  out  into  a  dreadful 
screaming.  A  shot  followed — silence — another  shot — 
then  the  stairs  outside  shook  under  the  rush  of  mount- 
ing men. 

As  the  door  burst  open  I  felt  a  touch  on  my  arm; 
the  Countess  de  Vassart  stood  erect  and  pale,  one 
slender,  protecting  hand  resting  lightly  on  my  shoul- 
der; a  lieutenant  of  Prussian  infantry  confronted  us; 
straight,  heavy  sword  drawn,  rigid,  uncompromising, 
in  his  faultless  gray-and-black  uniform,  with  its  tight, 
silver  waist-sash. 

"I  do  not  have  you  thrown  into  the  street,"  he  said 
to  me,  in  excellent  French,  "because  there  has  been 
no  firing  from  the  windows  in  this  village.  Other- 
wise— other  measures.  Be  at  ease,  madame,  I  shall 
not  harm  your  invalid." 

He  glanced  at  me  out  of  his  near-sighted  eyes,  dropped 
the  point  of  his  sword  to  the  stone  floor,  and  slowly 
caressed  his  small,  blond  mustache. 

"  How  many  troops  passed  through  here  yesterday 
morning?"  he  asked. 

I  was  silent. 

76 


THE    IMMORTALS 

"There  was  artillery,  was  there  not?" 

I  only  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  hear?"  he  repeated,  sharply.  "You  are  a 
prisoner,  and  I  am  questioning  you." 

"You  have  that  useless  privilege,"  I  observed. 

"If  you  are  insolent  I  will  have  you  shot!"  he  retort- 
ed, staring  haughtily  at  me. 

I  glanced  out  of  the  window. 

There  was  a  pause;  the  hand  of  the  Countess  de 
Vassart  trembled  on  my  shoulder. 

Under  the  window  strident  Prussian  bugles  were 
blowing  a  harsh  summons;  the  young  officer  stepped 
to  the  loop-hole  and  looked  out,  then  hastily  removed 
his  helmet  and  thrust  his  blond  head  through  the 
smoky  aperture.  "March  those  prisoners  in  below!" 
he  shouted  down. 

Then  he  withdrew  his  head,  put  on  his  polished 
helmet  of  black  leather,  faced  with  the  glittering  Prus- 
sian eagle,  and  tightened  the  gold-scaled  cheek-guard. 

A  moment  later  came  a  trample  of  feet  on  the  land- 
ing outside,  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  three  prisoners 
were  brutally  pushed  into  the  room. 

I  tried  to  turn  and  look  at  them;  they  stood  in  the 
dusk  near  the  bed,  but  I  could  only  make  out  that 
one  was  a  Turco,  his  jacket  in  rags,  his  canvas  breeches 
covered  with  mud. 

Again  the  lieutenant  came  to  the  loop-hole  and 
glanced  out,  then  shook  his  head,  motioning  the  sol- 
diers back. 

"It  is  too  high  and  the  arc  of  fire  too  limited,"  he 
said,  shortly.  "Detail  four  men  to  hold  the  stairs, 
ten  men  and  a  sergeant  in  the  room  below,  and  you'd 
better  take  your  prisoners  down  there.  Bayonet  that 
Turco  tiger  if  he  shows  his  teeth  again.  March!" 

As  the  prisoners  filed  out  I  turned  once  more  and 
thought  I  recognized  Salah  Ben  -  Ahmed  in  the  di- 

77 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

shevelled  Turco,  but  could  not  be  certain,  so  disfigured 
and  tattered  the  soldier  appeared. 

"Here,  you  hussar  prisoner!"  cried  the  lieutenant, 
pointing  at  me  with  his  white -gloved  finger,  "turn 
your  head  and  busy  yourself  with  what  concerns  you. 
And  you,  madame,"  he  added,  pompously,  "see  that 
you  give  us  no  trouble  and  stay  in  this  room  until 
you  have  permission  to  leave." 

"Are  —  are  you  speaking  to  me,  monsieur?"  ask- 
ed the  Countess,  amazed.  Then  she  rose,  exasper- 
ated. 

"Your  insolence  disgraces  your  uniform,"  she  said. 
"  Go  to  your  French  prisoners  and  learn  the  rudiments 
of  courtesy!" 

The  officer  reddened  to  his  colorless  eyebrows;  his 
little,  near-sighted  eyes  became  stupid  and  fixed;  he 
smoothed  the  blond  down  on  his  upper  lip  with  hesitat- 
ing fingers. 

Suddenly  he  turned  and  marched  out,  slamming  the 
door  violently  behind  him. 

At  this  impudence  the  eyes  of  the  Countess  began 
to  sparkle,  and  an  angry  flush  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

"Madame,"  said  I,  "he  is  only  a  German  boy,  un- 
balanced by  his  own  importance  and  his  first  battle. 
But  he  will  never  forget  this  lesson;  let  him  digest  it 
in  his  own  manner." 

And  he  did,  for  presently  there  came  a  polite  knock 
at  the  door,  and  the  lieutenant  reappeared,  bowing 
rigidly,  one  hand  on  his  sword-hilt,  the  other  holding 
his  helmet  by  the  gilt  spike. 

"  Lieutenant  von  Eberbach  present  to  apologize," 
he  said,  jerkily,  red  as  a  beet.  "Begs  permission  to 
take  a  half-dozen  of  wine;  men  very  thirsty." 

"Lieutenant  von  Eberbach  may  take  the  wine," 
said  the  Countess,  calmly. 

"Rudeness  without  excuse!"  muttered  the  boy; 
78 


THE    IMMORTALS 

"beg  the  graciously  well-born  lady  not  to  judge  my 
regiment  or  my  country  by  it.  Can  Lieutenant  von 
Eberbach  make  amends?" 

"  The  Lieutenant  has  made  them,"  said  the  Countess. 
"The  merciful  treatment  of  French  prisoners  will 
prove  his  sincerity." 

The  lad  made  another  rigid  bow  and  got  himself 
out  of  the  door  with  more  or  less  dignity,  and  the  Coun- 
tess drew  a  chair  beside  my  sofa-chair  and  sat  down, 
eyes  still  bright  with  the  cinders  of  a  wrath  I  had  never 
suspected  in  her. 

Together  we  looked  down  into  the  street. 

Under  the  window  the  flat,  high-pitched  drums  began 
to  rattle;  deep  voices  shouted;  the  whole  street  un- 
dulated with  masses  of  gray  -  and  -  black  uniforms, 
moving  forward  through  the  smoke.  A  superb  reg- 
imental band  began  to  play ;  the  troops  broke  out  into 
heavy  cheering. 

"  Vorwarts !  Vorwarts ! ' '  came  the  steady  commands. 
The  band  passed  with  a  dull  flash  of  instruments;  a 
thousand  brass  helmet-spikes  pricked  the  smoke;  the 
tread  of  the  Prussian  infantry  shook  the  earth. 

"  The  invasion  has  begun,"  I  said. 

Her  face  was  expressionless,  save  for  the  brightness 
of  her  eyes. 

And  now  another  band  sounded,  playing  "I  Had 
a  Comrade!"  and  the  \vhole  street  began  to  ring  with 
the  noble  marching-song  of  the  coming  regiment. 

"Bavarian  infantry,"  I  whispered,  as  the  light-blue 
columns  wheeled  around  the  curve  and  came  swinging 
up  the  street ;  for  I  could  see  the  yellow  crown  on  the 
collars  of  their  tunics,  and  the  heavy  leather  helmets, 
sunnounted  by  chenille  rolls. 

Behind  them  trotted  a  squadron  of  Uhlans  on  their 
dainty  horses,  under  a  canopy  of  little  black-and-white 
flags  fluttering  from  the  points  of  their  lances. 

79 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Uhlans,"  I  murmured.  I  heard  the  faint  click  of 
her  teeth  closing  tightly. 

Hussars  in  crimson  tunics,  armed  with  curious 
weapons,  half  carbine,  half  pistol,  followed  the  Uh- 
lans, filling  the  smoky  street  with  a  flood  of  gorgeous 
color. 

Suddenly  a  company  of  Saxon  pioneers  arrived  on 
the  double-quick,  halted,  fell  out,  and  began  to  break 
down  the  locked  doors  of  the  houses  on  either  side  of 
the  street.  At  the  same  time  Prussian  infantry  came 
hurrying  past,  dragging  behind  them  dozens  of  vehi- 
cles, long  hay-wagons,  gardeners'  carts,  heavy  wheel- 
barrows, even  a  dingy  private  carriage,  with  tarnished 
lamps,  rocking  crazily  on  rusty  springs. 

The  soldiers  wheeled  these  wagons  into  a  double  line, 
forming  a  complete  chain  across  the  street,  where  the 
Turcos  had  commenced  to  dig  their  ditch  and  breast- 
works— a  barricade  high  enough  to  check  a  charge, 
and  cunningly  arranged,  too,  for  the  wooden  abatis 
could  not  be  seen  from  the  eastern  end  of  the  street, 
where  a  charge  of  French  infantry  or  cavalry  must 
enter  Morsbronn  if  it  entered  at  all. 

We  watched  the  building  of  the  barricade,  fascinated. 
Soldiers  entered  the  houses  on  either  side  of  the  street, 
only  to  reappear  at  the  windows  and  thrust  out  helmet- 
ed  heads.  More  soldiers  came,  running  heavily  —  the 
road  swarmed  with  them;  some  threw  themselves  flat 
under  the  wagons,  some  knelt,  thrusting  their  needle- 
guns  through  the  wheel-spokes ;  others  remained  stand- 
ing, rifles  resting  over  the  rails  of  the  long,  skeleton 
hay-wagons. 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen,"  I  said,  as  a  group 
of  smartly  uniformed  officers  appeared  on  the  roof  of 
the  opposite  house  and  hastily  scrambled  to  the  ridge- 
pole. 

Something  was  surely  going  to  happen ;  the  officers 

80 


THE    IMMORTALS 

were  using  their  field-glasses  and  pointing  excitedly 
across  the  roof-tops;  the  windows  of  every  house  as 
far  as  I  could  see  were  black  with  helmets ;  a  regiment 
in  column  came  up  on  the  double,  halted,  disintegrated, 
melting  away  behind  walls,  into  yards,  doorways,  gar- 
dens. 

A  colonel  of  infantry,  splendidly  mounted,  drew  bri- 
dle under  our  loop-hole  and  looked  up  at  the  officers  on 
the  roof  across  the  wray. 

"  Attention,  you  up  there!"  he  shouted.  "Is  it  in- 
fantry?" 

"  No!"  bawled  an  officer,  hollowed  hand  to  his  cheek. 
"It's  their  brigade  of  heavy  cavalry  coming  like  an 
earthquake!" 

"The  cuirassiers!"  I  cried,  electrified.  "It's  Mi- 
chel's cuirassiers,  madamel  And — oh,  the  barricade!" 
I  groaned,  twisting  my  fingers  in  helpless  rage. 
"They'll  be  caught  in  a  trap;  they'll  die  like  flies  in 
that  street." 

"  This  is  horrible!"  muttered  the  girl.  "  Don't  they 
know  the  street  is  blocked?  Can't  they  find  out  before 
they  ride  into  this  ravine  below  us?  Will  they  all  be 
killed  here  under  our  windows?" 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  stood  a  moment,  then  stepped 
swiftly  forward  into  the  angle  of  the  tower. 

"Look  there!"  she  cried,  in  terror. 

"Push  my  chair — quick!"  I  said.  She  dragged  it 
forward. 

An  old  house  across  the  street,  which  had  been  on 
fire,  had  collapsed  into  a  mere  mound  of  slate,  charred 
beams,  and  plaster.  Through  the  brown  heat  which 
quivered  above  the  ruins  I  could  see  out  into  the  coun- 
try. And  what  I  saw  was  a  line  of  hills,  crowned 
with  smoke,  a  rolling  stretch  of  meadow  below,  set 
here  and  there  with  shot-torn  trees  and  hop-poles ;  and 
over  this  uneven  ground  two  regiments  of  French  cui- 
6  81 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

rassiers  and  two  squadrons  of  lancers  moving  slowly 
forward  as  though  on  parade. 

Above  them,  around  them,  clouds  of  smoke  puffed 
up  suddenly  and  floated  away — the  shells  from  Prus- 
sian batteries  on  the  heights.  Long,  rippling  crashes 
broke  out,  belting  the  fields  with  smoky  breastworks, 
where  a  Prussian  infantry  regiment,  knee -deep  in 
smoke,  was  firing  on  the  advancing  cavalry. 

The  cuirassiers  moved  on  slowly,  the  sun  a  blind- 
ing sheet  of  fire  on  their  armor ;  now  and  then  a  horse 
tossed  his  beautiful  head,  now  and  then  a  steel  helmet 
turned,  flashing. 

Grief -stricken,  I  groaned  aloud:  "Madame,  there 
rides  the  finest  cavalry  in  the  world  1  —  to  annihila- 
tion." 

How  could  I  know  that  they  were  coming  deliberately 
to  sacrifice  themselves?  —  that  they  rode  with  death 
heavy  on  their  souls,  knowing  well  there  was  no  hope, 
understanding  that  they  were  to  die  to  save  the  frag- 
ments of  a  beaten  army? 

Yet  something  of  this  I  suspected,  for  already  I 
saw  the  long,  dark  Prussian  lines  overlapping  the 
French  flank ;  I  heard  the  French  mitrailleuses  rattling 
through  the  cannon's  thunder,  and  I  saw  an  entire 
French  division,  which  I  did  not  then  know  to  be 
Lartigue's,  falling  back  across  the  hills. 

And  straight  into  the  entire  Prussian  army  rode 
the  "grosse  cavallerie"  and  the  lancers. 

"  They  are  doomed,  like  their  fathers,"  I  muttered — 
"sons  of  the  cuirassiers  of  Waterloo.  See  what  men 
can  do  for  France!" 

The  young  Countess  started  and  stood  up  very 
straight. 

"Look,  madame!"  I  said,  harshly — "look  on  the 
men  of  France!  You  say  you  do  not  understand 
the  narrow  love  of  country!  Look!" 

82 


THE    IMMORTALS 

"It  is  too  pitiful,  too  horrible/'  she  said,  hoarsely. 
"How  the  horses  fall  in  that  meadow!" 

"They  will  fall  thicker  than  that  in  this  street!" 

"See!"  she  cried;  "they  have  begun  to  gallop! 
They  are  coming!  Oh,  I  cannot  look! — I — I  cannot!" 

Far  away,  a  thin  cry  sounded  above  the  cannon 
din;  the  doomed  cuirassiers  were  cheering.  It  was 
the  first  charge  they  had  ever  made ;  nobody  had  ever 
seen  cavalry  of  their  arm  on  any  battle-field  of  Europe 
since  Waterloo. 

Suddenly  their  long,  straight  blades  shot  into  the 
air,  the  cuirassiers  broke  into  a  furious  gallop,  and 
that  mass  of  steel-clad  men  burst  straight  down  the 
first  slope  of  the  plateau,  through  the  Prussian  in- 
fantry, then  wheeled  and  descended  like  a  torrent  on 
Morsbronn. 

In  the  first  ranks  galloped  the  giants  of  the  Eighth 
Cuirassiers,  Colonel  Guiot  de  la  Rochere  at  their  head  ; 
the  Ninth  Cuirassiers  thundered  behind  them;  then 
came  the  lancers  under  a  torrent  of  red  -  and  -  white 
pennons.  Nothing  stopped  them,  neither  hedges  nor 
ditches  nor  fallen  trees. 

Their  huge  horses  bounded  forward,  manes  in  the 
wind,  tails  streaming,  iron  hoofs  battering  the  shaking 
earth ;  the  steel-clad  riders,  sabres  pointed  to  the  front, 
leaned  forward  in  their  saddles. 

Now  among  the  thicket  of  hop -vines  long  lines  of 
black  arose ;  there  was  a  flash,  a  belt  of  smoke,  another 
flash — then  the  metallic  rattle  of  bullets  on  steel  breast- 
plates. Entire  ranks  of  cuirassiers  went  down  in 
the  smoke  of  the  Prussian  rifles,  the  sinister  clash 
and  crash  of  falling  armor  filled  the  air.  Sheets  of 
lead  poured  into  them;  the  rattle  of  empty  scabbards 
on  stirrups,  the  metallic  ringing  of  bullets  on  helmet 
and  cuirass,  the  rifle-shots,  the  roar  of  the  shells 
exploding  swelled  into  a  very  hell  of  sound.  And, 

83 


above  the  infernal  fracas  rose  the  heavy  cheering  of 
the  doomed  riders. 

Into  the  deep,  narrow  street  wheeled  the  horsemen, 
choking  road  and  sidewalk  with  their  galloping  squad- 
rons, a  solid  cataract  of  impetuous  horses,  a  flashing 
torrent  of  armored  men — and  then!  Crash!  the  first 
squadron  dashed  headlong  against  the  barricade  of 
wagons  and  went  down. 

Into  them  tore  the  squadron  behind,  unable  to  stop 
their  maddened  horses,  and  into  these  thundered  squad- 
ron after  squadron,  unconscious  of  the  dead  wall  ahead. 

In  the  terrible  tumult  and  confusion,  screaming 
horses  and  shrieking  men  were  piled  in  heaps,  a  hu- 
man whirlpool  formed  at  the  barricade,  hurling  bodily 
from  its  centre  horses  and  riders.  Men  galloped  head- 
long into  each  other,  riders  struggled  knee  to  knee, 
pushing,  shouting,  colliding. 

Posted  behind  the  upper  and  lower  windows  of  the 
houses,  the  Prussians  shot  into  them,  so  close  that 
the  flames  from  the  rifles  set  the  jackets  of  the  cuiras- 
siers on  fire:  a  German  captain  opened  the  shutters 
of  a  window  and  fired  his  pistol  at  a  cuirassier,  who 
replied  with  a  sabre  thrust  through  the  window,  trans- 
fixing the  German's  throat. 

Then  a  horrible  butchery  of  men  and  horses  began; 
the  fusillade  became  so  violent  and  the  scene  so  sick- 
ening that  a  Prussian  lieutenant  went  crazy  in  the 
house  opposite,  and  flung  himself  from  the  window 
into  the  mass  of  writhing  horsemen.  Tall  cuirassiers, 
in  impotent  fury,  began  slashing  at  the  walls  of  the 
houses,  breaking  their  heavy  sabres  to  splinters  against 
the  stones;  their  powerful  horses,  white  with  foam, 
reared,  fell  back,  crushing  their  riders  beneath  them. 

In  front  of  the  barricade  a  huge  fellow  reined  in 
his  horse  and  turned,  white -gloved  hand  raised,  red 
epaulets  tossing. 

84 


THE    IMMORTALS 

"Halt!  Halt!"  he  shouted.  "Stop  the  lancers!" 
And  a  trumpeter,  disengaging  himself  from  the  frantic 
chaos,  set  his  long,  silver  trumpet  to  his  lips  and  blew 
the  "Halt!" 

A  bullet  rolled  the  trumpeter  under  his  horse's  feet; 
a  volley  riddled  the  other's  horse,  and  the  agonized 
animal  reared  and  cleared  the  bristlinp;  abatis  with  a 
single  bound,  his  rider  dropping  dead  among  the  hay- 
wagons. 

Then  into  this  awful  struggle  galloped  the  two 
squadrons  of  the  lancers.  For  a  moment  the  street 
swam  under  their  fluttering  red-and-white  lance-pen- 
nons, then  a  volley  swept  them — another — another — 
and  down  they  went. 

Herds  of  riderless  horses  tore  through  the  street; 
the  road  undulated  with  crushed,  quivering  creatures 
crawling  about.  Against  the  doorway  of  a  house 
opposite  a  noble  horse  in  agony  leaned  with  shaking 
knees,  head  raised,  lips  shrinking  back  over  his  teeth. 

Bewildered,  stupefied,  exhausted,  the  cuirassiers  sat 
in  their  saddles,  staring  up  at  the  windows  where 
the  Prussians  stood  and  fired.  Now  and  then  one 
would  start  as  from  a  nightmare,  turn  his  jaded  horse, 
and  go  limping  away  down  the  street.  The  road  was 
filled  with  horsemen,  wandering  helplessly  about  under 
the  rain  of  bullets.  One,  a  mere  boy,  rode  up  to  a 
door,  leaned  from  his  horse  and  began  to  knock  for 
admittance;  another  dismounted  and  sat  down  on  a 
doorstep,  head  buried  in  his  hands,  regardless  of  the 
bullets  which  tore  the  woodwork  around  him. 

The  street  was  still  crowded  with  entrapped  cuiras- 
siers, huddled  in  groups  or  riding  up  and  down  the 
walls  mechanically  seeking  shelter.  A  few  of  these, 
dismounted,  were  wearily  attempting  to  drag  a  heavy 
cart  away  from  the  barricade;  the  Prussians  shot 
them,  one  at  a  time,  but  others  came  to  help,  and  a 

85 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

few  lancers  aided  them,  and  at  length  they  managed 
to  drag  a  hay -wagon  aside,  giving  a  narrow  passage 
to  the  open  country  beyond.  Instantly  the  Prussian 
infantry  swarmed  out  of  the  houses  and  into  the  street, 
shouting,  "Prisoners!"  pushing,  striking,  and  drag- 
ging the  exhausted  cuirassiers  from  their  saddles. 
But  contact  with  the  enemy,  hand  to  hand,  seemed 
to  revive  the  fury  of  the  armored  riders.  The  de'bris 
of  the  regiments  closed  up,  long,  straight  sabres  glit- 
tered, trembling  horses  plunged  forward,  broke  into  a 
stiff  gallop,  and  passed  through  the  infantry,  through 
the  rent  in  the  barricade,  and  staggered  away  across 
the  fields,  buried  in  the  smoke  of  a  thousand  rifles. 

So  rode  the  "Cuirassiers  of  Morsbronn,"  the  flower 
of  an  empire's  chivalry,  the  elect  of  France.  So  rode 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Sixth  Lancers  to  shiver  their 
slender  spears  against  stone  walls — for  the  honor  of 
France. 

Death  led  them.  Death  rode  with  them  knee  to  knee. 
Death  alone  halted  them.  But  their  shining  souls 
galloped  on  into  that  vast  Valhalla  where  their  ances- 
tors of  Waterloo  stood  waiting,  and  the  celest:"l  trum- 
pets pealed  a  last  "Dismount I" 


VI 

TEE  GAME  BEGINS 

THE  room  in  the  turret  was  now  swimming  in 
smoke  and  lime  dust;  I  could  scarcely  see  the 
gray  figure  of  the  Countess  through  the  powder-mist 
which  drifted  in  through  shutters  and  loop-hole,  dim- 
ming the  fading  daylight. 

In  the  street  a  dense  pall  of  pungent  vapor  hung 
over  roof  and  pavement,  motionless  in  the  calm  August 
air;  two  houses  were  burning  slowly,  smothered  in 
smoke;  through  a  ruddy  fog  I  saw  the  dead  lying 
in  mounds,  the  wounded  moving  feebly,  the  Prussian 
soldiery  tossing  straw  into  the  hay-carts  that  had 
served  their  deadly  purpose. 

But  oh,  the  dreadful  murmur  that  filled  the  heavy 
air,  the  tremulous,  ceaseless  plaint  which  comes  from 
strong,  muscular  creatures,  tenacious  of  life,  who  are 
dying  and  who  die  hard. 

Helmeted  figures  swarmed  through  the  smoke; 
wagon  after  wagon,  loaded  deep  with  dead  cavalry- 
men, was  drawn  away  by  heavy  teams  of  horses  now 
arriving  from  the  regimental  transport  train,  which 
had  come  up  and  halted  just  at  the  entrance  to  the 
village. 

And  now  wagon-loads  of  French  wounded  began  to 
pass,  jolting  over  crushed  helmets,  rifles,  cuirasses, 
and  the  carcasses  of  dead  horses. 

A  covey  of  Uhlans  entered  the  shambles,  picking 

87 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

their  way  across  the  wreckage  of  the  battle,  a  slim, 
wiry,  fastidious  company,  dainty  as  spurred  game- 
cocks, with  their  helmet  -  cords  swinging  like  wattles 
and  their  schapskas  tilted  rakishly. 

Then  the  sad  cortege  of  prisoners  formed  in  the 
smoke,  the  wounded  leaning  on  their  silent  comrades, 
bandaged  heads  hanging,  the  others  erect,  defiant, 
supporting  the  crippled  or  standing  with  arms  folded 
and  helmeted  heads  held  high. 

And  at  last  they  started,  between  two  files  of  mount- 
ed Uhlans — Turcos,  line  infantrymen,  gendarmes,  lan- 
cers, and,  towering  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
others,  the  superb  cuirassiers. 

A  German  general  and  his  smartly  uniformed  staff 
came  clattering  up  the  slippery  street  and  halted  to 
watch  the  prisoners  defile  And,  as  the  first  of  the 
captive  cuirassiers  came  abreast  of  the  staff,  the  gen- 
eral stiffened  in  his  saddle  and  raised  his  hand  to  his 
helmet,  saying  to  his  officers,  loud  enough  for  me  to 
hear: 

"Salute  the  brave,  gentlemen!" 

And  the  silent,  calm-eyed  cuirassiers  passed  on, 
heads  erect,  uniforms  in  shreds,  their  battered  armor 
foul  with  smoke  and  mud,  spurs  broken,  scabbards 
empty. 

Troops  of  captured  horses,  conducted  by  Uhlans, 
followed  the  prisoners,  then  wagons  piled  high  with 
rifles,  sabres,  and  saddles,  then  a  company  of  Uhlans 
cantering  away  with  the  shot -torn  guidons  of  the 
cuirassiers. 

Last  of  all  came  the  wounded  in  their  straw-wadded 
wagons,  escorted  by  infantry;  I  heard  them  coming 
before  I  saw  them,  and,  sickened,  I  closed  my  ears  with 
my  hands ;  yet  even  then  the  deep,  monotonous  groan- 
ing seemed  to  fill  the  room  and  vibrate  through  the 
falling  shadows  long  after  the  last  cart  had  creaked 

88 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

out  of  sight  and  hearing  into  the  gathering  haze  of 
evening. 

The  deadened  booming  of  cannon  still  came  steadily 
from  the  west,  and  it  needed  no  messenger  to  tell  me 
that  the  First  Corps  had  been  hurled  back  into  Alsace, 
and  that  MacMahon's  army  was  in  full  retreat;  that 
now  the  Rhine  was  open  and  the  passage  of  the  Vosges 
was  clear,  and  Strasbourg  must  stand  siege  and  Belfort 
and  Toul  must  man  their  battlements  for  a  struggle 
that  meant  victory,  or  an  Alsace  doomed  and  a  Lorraine 
lost  to  France  forever. 

The  room  had  grown  very  dark,  the  loop-hole  admit- 
ting but  little  of  the  smoky  evening  sunset.  Some 
soldiers  in  the  hallway  outside  finally  lighted  torches ; 
red  reflections  danced  over  the  torn  ceiling  and  plaster- 
covered  floor,  illuminating  a  corner  where  the  Countess 
was  sitting  by  the  bedside,  her  head  lying  on  the 
covers.  How  long  she  had  been  there  I  did  not  know, 
but  when  I  spoke  she  raised  her  head  and  answered 
quietly. 

In  the  torchlight  her  face  was  ghastly,  her  eyes  red 
and  dim  as  she  came  over  to  me  and  looked  out  into 
the  darkness. 

The  woman  was  shaken  terribly,  shaken  to  the 
very  soul.  She  had  not  seen  all  that  I  had  seen ;  she 
had  flinched  before  the  spectacle  of  a  butchery  too 
awful  to  look  upon,  but  she  had  seen  enough,  and 
she  had  heard  enough  to  support  or  to  confound  the- 
ories formed  through  a  young  girl's  brief,  passionless, 
eventless  life. 

Under  the  window  soldiers  began  shooting  the 
crippled  horses;  the  heavy  flash  and  bang  of  rifles 
set  her  trembling  again. 

Until  the  firing  ceased  she  stood  as  though  stupefied, 
scarcely  breathing,  her  splendid  hair  glistening  like 
molten  copper  in  the  red  torches'  glare. 

89 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

A  soldier  came  into  the  room  and  dragged  the  bed- 
clothes from  the  bed,  trailing  them  across  the  floor  be- 
hind him  as  he  departed.  An  officer  holding  a  lantern 
peered  through  the  door,  his  eye-glasses  shining,  his 
boots  in  his  hand. 

He  evidently  had  intended  to  get  into  the  bed,  but 
when  his  gaze  fell  upon  us  he  withdrew  in  his  stock- 
inged feet. 

On  the  stairs  soldiers  were  eating  hunches  of  stale 
bread  and  knocking  the  necks  from  wine  bottles  with 
their  bayonets.  One  lumpish  fellow  came  to  the  door 
and  offered  me  part  of  a  sausage  which  he  was  devour- 
ing, a  kindly  act  that  touched  me,  and  I  wondered 
whether  the  other  prisoners  might  find  among  their 
Uhlan  guards  the  same  humanity  that  moved  this 
half-famished  yokel  to  offer  me  the  food  he  was  gnaw- 
ing. 

Soldiers  began  to  come  and  go  in  the  room;  some 
carried  off  chairs  for  officers  below  some  took  the 
pillows  from  the  bed,  one  bore  away  a  desk  on  his 
broad  shoulders. 

The  Countess  never  moved  or  spoke. 

The  evening  had  grown  chilly;  I  was  cold  to  my 
knees. 

A  soldier  offered  to  build  me  a  fire  in  the  great  stone 
fireplace  behind  me,  and  when  I  assented  he  calmly 
smashed  a  chair  to  kindling-wood,  wrenched  off  the 
heavy  posts  of  the  bed,  and  started  a  fire  which  lit 
up  the  wrecked  room  with  its  crimson  glare. 

The  Countess  rose  and  looked  around.  The  soldier 
pushed  my  long  chair  to  the  blaze,  tore  down  the  canopy 
over  the  bed  and  flung  it  over  me,  stolidly  ignoring  my 
protests.  Then  he  clumped  out  with  his  muddy  boots 
and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

For  a  long  while  I  lay  there,  full  in  the  heat  of  the 
fire,  half  dozing,  then  sleeping,  then  suddenly  alert, 

90 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

only  to  look  about  me  to  see  the  Countess  with  eyes 
closed,  motionless  in  her  arm-chair,  only  to  hear  the 
muffled  thunder  of  the  guns  in  the  dark. 

Once  again,  having  slept,  I  roused,  listening.  The 
crackle  of  the  flames  was  all  I  heard ;  the  cannon  were 
silent.  A  few  moments  later  a  clock  in  the  hall- 
way struck  nine  times.  At  the  same  instant  a  dead- 
ened cannon-shot  echoed  the  clamor  of  the  clock.  It 
was  the  last  shot  of  the  battle.  And  when  the  dull 
reverberations  had  died  away  Alsace  was  a  lost  prov- 
ince, MacMahon's  army  was  in  full  retreat,  leaving 
on  the  three  battle-fields  of  Worth,  Reichshoffen,  and 
Froschweiler  sixteen  thousand  dead,  wounded,  and 
missing  soldiers  of  France. 

All  night  long  I  heard  cavalry  traversing  Morsbronn 
in  an  unbroken  column,  the  steady  trample  of  their 
horses  never  ceasing  for  an  instant.  At  moments, 
from  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  the  sinister  sound 
of  cheering  came  from  the  vanguard  of  the  German 
Sixth  Corps,  just  arriving  to  learn  of  the  awful  disaster 
to  France.  Too  late  to  take  any  part  in  the  battle, 
these  tired  soldiers  stood  cheering  by  regiments  as 
the  cavalry  rode  past  in  pursuit  of  the  shattered  army, 
and  their  cheering  swelled  to  a  terrific  roar  toward 
morning,  when  the  Prince  Royal  of  Prussia  appeared 
with  his  staff,  and  the  soldiers  in  Morsbronn  rushed 
out  into  the  street  bellowing,  "Hoch  soil  er  leben! 
Er  soil  leben— Kochl" 

About  seven  o'clock  that  morning  a  gaunt,  leather- 
faced  Prussian  officer,  immaculate  in  his  sombre  uni- 
form, entered  the  room  without  knocking.  The  young 
Countess  turned  in  the  depths  of  her  chair;  he  bowed 
to  her  slightly,  unfolded  a  printed  sheet  of  paper  which 
bore  the  arms  of  Prussia,  hesitated,  then  said,  looking 
directly  at  me: 

"Morsbronn  is  now  German  territory  and  will  con- 

91 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

tinue  to  be  governed  by  military  law,  proclaimed  under 
the  state  of  siege,  until  the  country  is  properly  pacified. 

"  Honest  inhabitants  will  not  be  disturbed.  Citizens 
are  invited  to  return  to  their  homes  and  peacefully 
continue  their  legitimate  avocations,  subject  to  and 
under  the  guarantee  of  the  Prussian  military  govern- 
ment. 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  the  honor  to  hand  you  a  copy  of 
regulations.  I  am  the  provost  marshal ;  all  complaints 
should  be  brought  to  me." 

I  took  the  printed  sheet  and  looked  at  the  Prussian 
coat  of  arms. 

"  A  list  of  the  inhabitants  of  Morsbronn  will  be  made 
to-day.  You  will  have  the  goodness  to  declare  yourself 
— and  you  also,  madame.  There  being  other  build- 
ings better  fitted,  no  soldiers  will  be  quartered  in  this 
house." 

The  officer  evidently  mistook  me  for  the  owner  of 
the  house  and  not  a  prisoner.  A  blanket  hid  my  hussar 
trousers  and  boots ;  he  could  only  see  my  ragged  shirt. 

"And  now,  madame,"  he  continued,  "as  monsieur 
appears  to  need  the  services  of  a  physician,  I  shall 
send  him  a  French  doctor,  brought  in  this  morning 
from  the  Chateau  de  la  Trappe.  I  wish  him  to  get 
well;  I  wish  the  inhabitants  of  my  district  to  return 
to  their  homes  and  resume  the  interrupted  regimes 
which  have  made  this  province  of  Alsace  so  valuable 
to  France.  I  wish  Morsbronn  to  prosper;  I  wish  it 
well.  This  is  the  German  policy. 

"But,  monsieur,  let  me  speak  plainly.  I  tolerate 
no  treachery.  The  law  is  iron  and  will  be  applied 
with  rigor.  An  inhabitant  of  my  district  who  deceives 
me,  or  who  commits  an  offence  against  the  troops 
under  my  command,  or  who  in  any  manner  holds, 
or  attempts  to  hold,  communication  with  the  enemy, 
will  be  shot  without  court-martial." 

92 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

He  turned  his  grim,  inflexible  face  to  the  Countess 
and  bowed,  then  he  bowed  to  me,  swung  squarely  on 
his  heel,  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"Admit  the  French  doctor/'  he  said  to  the  soldier 
on  guard,  and  marched  out,  his  curved  sabre  banging 
behind  his  spurred  heels. 

"It  must  be  Dr.  Delmont!"  I  said,  looking  at  the 
Countess  as  there  came  a  low  knock  at  the  door. 

"I  am  very  thankful!"  she  said,  her  voice  almost 
breaking.  She  rose  unsteadily  from  her  chair;  some- 
body entered  the  room  behind  me  and  I  turned,  calling 
out,  "Welcome,  doctor!" 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  calm  voice  of  John  Buck- 
hurst  at  my  elbow. 

The  Countess  shrank  aside  as  Buckhurst  coolly 
passed  before  her,  turned  his  slim  back  to  the  embers 
of  the  fire,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  me — those  pale,  slow 
eyes,  passionless  as  death. 

Here  was  a  type  of  criminal  I  had  never  until  re- 
cently known.  Small  of  hand  and  foot — too  small 
even  for  such  a  slender  man — clean  shaven,  colorless 
in  hair,  skin,  lips,  he  challenged  instant  attention 
by  the  very  monotony  of  his  bloodless  symmetry. 
There  was  nothing  of  positive  evil  in  his  face,  nothing 
of  impulse,  good  or  bad,  nothing  even  superficially 
human.  His  spotless  linen,  his  neat  sack-coat  and 
trousers  of  gray  seemed  part  of  him — like  a  loose  outer 
skin.  There  was  in  his  ensemble  nothing  to  disturb 
the  negative  harmony,  save  perhaps  an  abnormal 
flatness  of  the  instep  and  hands. 

"  My  friend,"  he  observed,  in  English,  "  do  you  think 
you  will  know  me  again  when  you  have  finished  your 
scrutiny?" 

The  Countess,  face  averted,  passed  behind  my  chair. 

"Wait,"  said  Buckhurst;  and  turning  directly  to 
me,  he  added:  "You  were  mistaken  for  a  hussar  at 

93 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

La  Trappe;  you  were  mistaken  here  for  a  hussar  as 
long  as  the  squad  holding  this  house  remained  in 
Morsbronn.  A  few  moments  ago  the  provost  mistook 
you  for  a  civilian."  He  looked  across  at  the  Countess, 
who  already  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

"If  you  disturb  me,"  he  said,  "I  have  only  to  tell 
the  provost  the  truth.  Members  of  the  Imperial  Police 
caught  without  proper  uniform  inside  German  lines 
are  shot,  seance  tenante." 

The  Countess  stood  perfectly  still  a  moment,  then 
came  straight  to  me. 

"Is  that  true?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

She  still  leaned  forward,  looking  down  into  my 
face.  Then  she  turned  to  Buckhurst. 

"Do  you  want  money?"  she  asked. 

"I  want  a  chair — and  your  attention  for  the  pres- 
ent," he  replied,  and  seated  himself. 

The  printed  copy  of  the  rules  handed  me  by  the 
provost  marshal  lay  on  the  floor.  Buckhurst  picked 
up  the  sheet,  glanced  at  the  Prussian  eagle,  and 
thoughtfully  began  rolling  the  paper  into  a  grotesque 
shape. 

"Sit  down,  madarne,"  he  said,  without  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  bit  of  paper  which  he  had  now  fashioned 
into  a  cocked  hat. 

After  a  moment's  silent  hesitation  the  Countess 
drew  a  small  gilt  chair  beside  my  sofa-chair  and  sat 
down,  and  again  that  brave,  unconscious  gesture  of 
protection  left  her  steady  hand  lying  lightly  on  my  arm. 

Buckhurst  noted  the  gesture.  And  all  at  once  I 
divined  that  whatever  plan  he  had  come  to  execute 
had  been  suddenly  changed.  He  looked  down  at  the 
paper  in  his  hands,  gave  it  a  thoughtful  twist,  and, 
drawing  the  ends  out,  produced  a  miniature  paper 
boat. 

94 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

"  We  are  all  in  one  like  that,"  he  observed,  holding 
it  up  without  apparent  interest.  He  glanced  at  the 
young  Countess;  her  face  was  expressionless. 

"Madame/'  said  Buckhurst,  in  his  peculiarly  soft 
and  persuasive  voice,  "  I  am  not  here  to  betray  this 
gentleman;  I  am  not  here  even  to  justify  myself.  I 
came  here  to  make  reparation,  to  ask  your  forgive- 
ness, madame,  for  the  wrong  I  have  done  you,  and  to 
deliver  myself,  if  necessary,  into  the  hands  of  the 
proper  French  authorities  in  expiation  of  my  mis- 
guided zeal." 

The  Countess  was  looking  at  him  now;  he  fumbled 
with  the  paper  boat,  gave  it  an  unconscious  twist, 
and  produced  a  tiny  paper  box. 

"The  cause,"  he  said,  gently,  "to  which  I  have 
devoted  my  life  must  not  suffer  through  the  mistake 
of  a  fanatic ;  for  in  the  cause  of  universal  brotherhood 
I  am,  perhaps,  a  fanatic,  and  to  aid  that  cause  I  have 
gravely  compromised  myself.  I  came  here  to  expiate 
that  folly  and  to  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy, 
madame." 

"I  do  not  exactly  understand,"  said  I,  "how  you 
can  expiate  a  crime  here." 

"I  can  at  least  make  restitution,"  he  said,  turning 
the  paper  box  over  and  over  between  his  flat  fingers. 

"  Have  you  brought  me  the  diamonds  which  belong 
to  the  state?"  I  inquired,  amused. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  to  my  astonishment  he  drew  a 
small  leather  pouch  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  my 
blanket-covered  knees.  "How  many  diamonds  were 
there?"  he  asked. 

"One  hundred  and  three,"  I  replied,  incredulously, 
and  opened  the  leather  pouch.  Inside  was  a  bag  of 
chamois-skin.  This  I  stretched  wide  and  emptied. 

Scores  of  little  balls  of  tissue-paper  rolled  out  on  the 
blanket  over  my  knees;  I  opened  one;  it  contained  a 

95 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

diamond;  I  opened  another,  another,  and  another; 
diamonds  lay  blazing  on  my  blanket,  a  whole  handful, 
glittering  in  undimmed  splendor. 

"Count  them,"  murmured  Buckhurst,  fashioning 
the  paper  box  into  a  fly-trap  with  a  lid. 

With  a  quick  movement  I  swept  them  into  my  hands, 
then  one  by  one  dropped  the  stones  while  I  counted 
aloud  one  hundred  and  two  diamonds.  The  one  hun- 
dred and  third  jewel  was,  of  course,  safely  in  Paris. 

When  I  had  a  second  time  finished  the  enumeration 
I  leaned  back  in  my  chair,  utterly  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  this  man  or  for  what  he  had  done.  As  far  as  I 
could  see  there  was  no  logic  in  it,  nothing  demonstrated, 
nothing  proven.  To  me — and  I  am  not  either  sus- 
picious or  obstinate  by  nature — Buckhurst  was  still 
an  unrepentant  thief  and  a  dangerous  one. 

I  could  see  in  him  absolutely  nothing  of  the  fanatic, 
of  the  generous,  feather-headed  devotee,  nothing  of 
the  hasty  disciple  or  the  impulsive  martyr.  In  my 
eyes  he  continued  to  be  the  passionless  master-criminal, 
the  cold,  slow-eyed  source  of  hidden  evil,  the  designer 
of  an  intricate  and  viewless  intrigue  against  the  state. 

His  head  remained  bent  over  the  paper  toy  in  his 
hands.  Was  his  hair  gray  with  age  or  excesses,  or 
was  it  only  colorless  like  the  rest  of  his  exterior? 

"Restitution  is  not  expiation,"  he  said,  sadly,  with- 
out looking  up.  "I  loved  the  cause;  I  love  it  still; 
I  practised  deception,  and  I  am  here  to  ask  this  gentle 
lady  to  forgive  me  for  an  unworthy  yet  unselfish  use 
of  her  money  and  her  hospitality.  If  she  can  pardon 
me  I  welcome  whatever  punishment  may  be  meted 
out." 

The  Countess  dropped  her  elbow  on  the  arm  of  my 
chair  and  rested  her  face  in  her  hand. 

"Swept  away  by  my  passion  for  the  cause  of  uni- 
versal brotherhood,"  said  Buckhurst,  in  his  low,  caress- 

96 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

ing  voice,  "I  ventured  to  spend  this  generous  lady's 
money  to  carry  the  propaganda  into  the  more  violent 
centres  of  socialism — into  the  clubs  in  Montmartre 
and  Belleville.  There  I  urged  non-resistance ;  I  pleaded 
moderation  and  patience.  What  I  said  helped  a  little, 
I  think—" 

He  hesitated,  twisting  his  fly-box  into  a  paper  creature 
with  four  legs. 

"I  was  eager;  people  listened.  I  thought  that  if 
I  had  a  little  more  money  I  might  carry  on  this  work. 
...  I  could  not  come  to  you,  madame — " 

"  Why  not?"  said  the  Countess,  looking  at  him  quick- 
ly. "I  have  never  refused  you  money!" 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  you  never  refused  me.  But  I  knew 
that  La  Trappe  was  mortgaged,  that  even  this  house 
in  Morsbronn  was  loaded  with  debt.  I  knew,  madame, 
that  in  all  the  world  you  had  left  but  one  small  roof 
to  cover  you — the  house  in  Morbihan,  on  Point  Paradise. 
I  knew  that  if  I  asked  for  money  you  would  sell  Para- 
dise, .  .  .  and  I  could  not  ask  so  much,  ...  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  ask  that  sacrifice." 

"And  so  you  stole  the  crucifix  of  Louis  XL,"  I  sug- 
gested, pleasantly. 

He  did  not  look  at  me,  but  the  Countess  did. 

"  Bon,"  I  thought,  watching  Buckhurst's  deft  fingers ; 
"  he  means  to  be  taken  back  into  grace.  I  wonder 
exactly  why?  And  ...  is  it  worth  this  fortune  in 
diamonds  to  him  to  be  pardoned  by  a  penniless  girl 
whom  he  and  his  gang  have  already  stripped?" 

"  Could  you  forgive  me,  madame?"  murmured  Buck- 
hurst. 

"Would  you  explain  that  stick  of  dynamite  first?" 
I  interposed. 

The  Countess  turned  and  looked  directly  at  Buck- 
hurst.  He  sat  with  humble  head  bowed,  nimbly  con- 
structing a  paper  bird. 

7  97 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  That  was  not  dynamite ;  it  was  concentrated  phos- 
phorus/' he  said,  without  resentment.  "  Naturally  it 
burned  when  you  lighted  it,  but  if  you  had  not  burned 
it  I  could  easily  have  shown  Madame  la  Comtesse  what 
it  really  was." 

"I  also/'  said  I,  "if  I  had  thrown  it  at  your  feet, 
Mr.  Buckhurst." 

"Do  you  not  believe  me?"  he  asked,  meekly,  looking 
up  at  the  Countess. 

"Mr.  Buckhurst,"  said  the  young  Countess,  turning 
to  me,  "  has  aided  me  for  a  long  time  in  experiments. 
We  hoped  to  find  some  cheap  method  of  restoring 
nitrogen  and  phosphorus  to  the  worn -out  soil  which 
our  poor  peasants  till.  Why  should  you  doubt  that 
he  speaks  the  truth?  At  least  he  is  guiltless  of  any 
connection  with  the  party  which  advocated  violence." 

I  looked  at  Buckhurst.  He  was  engaged  in  con- 
structing a  multi-pointed  paper  star.  What  else  was 
he  busy  with?  Perhaps  I  might  learn  if  I  ceased  to 
manifest  distrust. 

"  Does  concentrated  phosphorus  burn  like  dynamite?" 
I  asked,  as  if  with  newly  aroused  interest. 

"Did  you  not  know  it?"  he  said,  warily. 

But  was  he  deceived  by  my  manner?  Was  that 
the  way  for  me  to  learn  anything? 

There  was  perhaps  another  way.  Clearly  this  ex- 
traordinary man  depended  upon  his  persuasive  elo- 
quence for  his  living,  for  the  very  shoes  on  his  little, 
flat  feet,  as  do  all  such  chevaliers  of  industry.  If  he 
would  only  begin  to  argue,  if  I  could  only  induce  him 
to  try  his  eloquence  on  me,  and  if  I  could  convince  him 
that  I  myself  was  but  an  ignorant,  self-centred,  bullet- 
headed  gendarme,  doing  my  duty  only  because  of  per- 
spective advancement,  ready  perhaps  to  take  bribes 
— perhaps  even  weakly,  covetously,  credulous — well, 
perhaps  I  might  possibly  learn  why  he  desired  to  cling 

9* 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

to  this  poor  young  lady,  whose  life  had  evidently  gone 
dreadfully  to  smash,  to  land  her  among  such  a  coterie 
of  thieves  and  lunatics. 

"Mr.  Buckhurst,"  I  said,  pompously,  "in  bringing 
these  diamonds  to  me  you  have  certainly  done  all 
in  your  power  to  repair  an  injury  which  concerned  all 
France. 

"  As  I  am  situated,  of  course  I  cannot  now  ask  you 
to  accompany  me  to  Paris,  where  doubtless  the  proper 
authorities  would  gladly  admit  extenuating  circum- 
stances, and  credit  you  with  a  sincere  repentance. 
But  I  put  you  on  your  honor  to  surrender  at  the  first 
opportunity." 

It  was  as  stupidly  trite  a  speech  as  I  could  think  of. 

Buckhurst  glanced  up  at  me.  Was  he  taking  my 
measure  anew,  judging  me  from  my  bray? 

"I  could  easily  aid  you  to  leave  Morsbronn,"  he 
said,  stealthily. 

"Oho,"  thought  I,  "so  you're  a  German  agent,  too, 
as  I  suspected."  But  I  said,  aloud,  simulating  aston- 
ishment :  "  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Buckhurst,  that 
you  would  deliberately  risk  death  to  aid  a  police  offi- 
cer to  bring  you  before  a  military  tribunal  in  Paris?" 

"I  do  not  desire  to  pose  as  a  hero  or  a  martyr,"  he 
said,  quietly,  "  but  I  regret  what  I  have  done,  and  I 
will  do  what  an  honest  man  can  do  to  make  the  fullest 
reparation — even  if  it  means  my  death." 

I  gazed  at  him  in  admiration — real  admiration — be- 
cause the  gross  bathos  he  had  just  uttered  betrayed  a 
weakness — vanity.  Now  I  began  to  understand  him; 
vanity  must  also  lead  him  to  undervalue  men.  True, 
with  the  faintest  approach  to  eloquence  he  could  no 
doubt  hold  the  "Clubs"  of  Belleville  spellbound;  with 
self-effacing  adroitness  to  cover  stealthy  persuasion, 
he  had  probably  found  little  difficulty  in  dominating 
this  inexperienced  girl,  who,  touched  to  the  soul  with 

99 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

pity  for  human  woe,  had  flung  herself  and  her  fortune 
to  the  howling  proletariat. 

But  that  he  should  so  serenely  undervalue  me  at  my 
first  bray  was  more  than  I  hoped  for.  So  I  brayed 
again,  the  good,  old,  sentimental  bray,  for  which  all 
Gallic  lungs  are  so  marvellously  fashioned : 

"Monsieur,  such  sentiments  honor  you.  I  am 
only  a  rough  soldier  of  the  Imperial  Police,  but  I  am 
profoundly  moved  to  find  among  the  leaders  of  the 
proletariat  such  delicate  and  chivalrous  emotions — " 
I  hesitated.  Was  I  buttering  the  sop  too  thickly? 

Buckhurst,  eyes  bent  on  the  floor,  began  picking 
to  pieces  his  paper  toy.  Presently  he  looked  up,  not 
at  me,  but  at  the  Countess,  who  sat  with  hands  clasped 
earnestly  watching  him. 

"If — if  the  state  pardons  me,  can  .  .  .  you?"  he 
murmured. 

She  looked  at  him  with  intense  earnestness.  I  saw 
he  was  sailing  on  the  wrong  tack. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  pardon,"  she  said,  gravely. 
"  But  I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Buckhurst,  I  can- 
not forget  what  you  have  done.  It  was  something — 
the  one  thing  that  I  cannot  understand — that  I  can 
never  understand — something  so  absolutely  alien  to  me 
that  it — somehow — leaves  me  stunned.  Don't  ask  me 
to  forget  it.  ...  I  cannot.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  harsh 
and  cruel,  or  to  condemn  you.  Even  if  you  had  taken 
the  jewels  from  me,  and  had  asked  my  forgiveness, 
I  would  have  given  it  freely.  But  I  could  not  be  as  I 
was,  a  comrade  to  you." 

There  was  a  silence.  The  Countess,  looking  perfect- 
ly miserable,  still  gazed  at  Buckhurst.  He  dropped 
his  gray,  symmetrical  head,  yet  I  felt  that  he  was  lis- 
tening to  every  minute  sound  in  the  room. 

"You  must  not  care  what  I  say,"  she  said.  "I  am 
only  an  unhappy  woman,  unused  to  the  liberty  I  have 

100 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

given  myself,  not  yet  habituated  to  the  charity  of  those 
blameless  hearts  which  forgive  everything!  I  am  a 
novice,  groping  my  way  into  a  new  and  vast  world,  a 
limitless,  generous,  forgiving  commune,  where  love 
alone  dominates.  .  .  .  And  if  I  had  lived  among  my 
brothers  long  enough  to  be  purged  of  those  traditions 
which  I  have  drawn  from  generations,  I  might  now  be 
noble  enough  and  wise  enough  to  say  I  do  forgive  and 
forget  that  you — " 

"That  you  were  once  a  thief,"  I  ended,  with  the 
genial  officiousness  of  the  hopelessly  fat-minded. 

In  the  stillness  I  heard  Buckhurst  draw  in  his  breath 
— once.  Some  day  he  would  try  to  kill  me  for  that ;  in 
the  mean  time  my  crass  stupidity  was  no  longer  a 
question  in  his  mind.  I  had  hurt  the  Countess,  too, 
with  what  she  must  have  believed  a  fool's  needless 
brutality.  But  it  had  to  be  so  if  I  played  at  Jaques 
Bonhomme. 

So  I  put  the  finishing  whine  to  it — "Our  Lord  died 
between  two  thieves  " — and  relapsed  into  virtuous  con- 
templation of  my  finger-tips. 

"Madame,"  said  Buckhurst,  in  a  low  voice,  "your 
contempt  of  me  is  part  of  my  penalty.  I  must  endure 
it.  I  shall  not  complain.  But  I  shall  try  to  live  a  life 
that  will  at  least  show  you  my  deep  sincerity." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,"  said  the  Countess,  earnestly. 
"Don't  think  that  I  mean  to  turn  away  from  you  or 
to  push  you  away.  There  is  nothing  of  the  Pharisee 
in  me.  I  would  gladly  trust  you  with  what  I  have. 
I  will  consult  you  and  advise  with  you,  Mr.  Buck- 
burst—" 

"And  .  .  .  despise  me." 

The  unhappy  Countess  looked  at  me.  It  goes  hard 
with  a  woman  when  her  guide  and  mentor  falls. 

"  If  you  return  to  Paradise,  in  Morbihan,  ...  as  we 
had  planned,  may  I  go,"  he  asked,  humbly,  "  only  as 

101 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

an  obscure  worker  in  the  cause?  I  beg,  madame,  that 
you  will  not  cast  me  off." 

So  he  wanted  to  go  to  Morbihan — to  the  village  of 
Paradise?  Why? 

The  Countess  said :  "  I  welcome  all  who  care  for  the 
cause.  You  will  never  hear  an  unkind  word  from  me 
if  you  desire  to  resume  the  work  in  Paradise.  Dr. 
Delmont  will  be  there;  Monsieur  Ta vernier  also,  I 
hope;  and  they  are  older  and  wiser  than  I,  and  they 
have  reached  that  lofty  serenity  which  is  far  above 
my  troubled  mind.  Ask  them  what  you  have  asked 
of  me;  they  are  equipped  to  answer  you." 

It  was  time  for  another  discord  from  me,  so  I  said : 
"Madame,  you  have  seen  a  thousand  men  lay  down 
their  lives  for  France.  Has  it  not  shaken  your  alle- 
giance to  that  ghost  of  patriotism  which  you  call  the 
'  Internationale'  ?  " 

Here  was  food  for  thought,  or  rather  fodder  for 
asses — the  Police  Oracle  turned  missionary  under  the 
nose  of  the  most  cunning  criminal  in  France  and  the 
vainest.  Of  course  Buckhurst's  contempt  for  me  at 
once  passed  all  bounds,  and,  secure  in  that  contempt, 
he  felt  it  scarcely  worth  while  to  use  his  favorite 
weapon — persuasion.  Still,  if  the  occasion  should  re- 
quire it,  he  was  quite  ready,  I  knew,  to  loose  his  elo- 
quence on  the  Countess,  and  on  me  too. 

The  Countess  turned  her  troubled  eyes  to  me. 

"What  I  have  seen,  what  I  have  thought  since  yes- 
terday has  distressed  me  dreadfully,"  she  said.  "I 
have  tried  to  include  all  the  world  in  a  broader  pity,  a 
broader,  higher,  and  less  selfish  love  than  the  jealous, 
single-minded  love  for  one  country — " 

"The  mother-land,"  I  said,  and  Buckhurst  looked 
up,  adding,  "The  world  is  the  true  mother-land." 

Whereupon  I  appeared  profoundly  impressed  at  such 
a  novel  and  epigrammatic  view. 

102 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

"There  is  much  to  be  argued  on  both  sides,"  said 
the  young  Countess,  "but  I  am  utterly  unfitted  to 
struggle  with  this  new  code  of  ethics.  If  it  had  been 
different — if  I  had  been  born  among  the  poor,  in 
misery! —  But  you  see  I  come  a  pilgrim  among  the 
proletariat,  clothed  in  conservatism,  cloaked  with  tra- 
dition, and  if  at  heart  I  burn  with  sorrow  for  the  mis- 
erable, and  if  I  gladly  give  what  I  have  to  help,  I 
cannot  with  a  single  gesture  throw  off  those  inherited 
garments,  though  they  tortured  my  body  like  the  gar- 
ment of  Nessus." 

I  did  not  smile  or  respect  her  less  for  the  stilted 
phrases,  the  pathetic  poverty  of  metaphor.  Profound- 
ly troubled,  struggling  with  a  reserve  the  borders 
of  which  she  strove  so  bravely  to  cross,  her  distress 
touched  me  the  more  because  I  knew  it  aroused  the 
uneasy  contempt  of  Buckhurst.  Yet  I  could  not  spare 
her. 

"You  saw  the  cuirassiers  die  in  the  street  below," 
I  repeated,  with  the  obstinacy  of  a  limited  intellect. 

"  Yes — and  my  heart  went  out  to  them,"  she  replied, 
with  an  emphasis  that  pleased  me  and  startled  Buck- 
hurst. 

Buckhurst  began  to  speak,  but  I  cut  him  short. 

"  Then,  madame,  if  your  heart  went  out  to  the  sol- 
diers of  France,  it  went  out  to  France,  too!" 

"  Yes — to  France,"  she  repeated,  and  I  saw  her  lip 
begin  to  quiver. 

"  Wherein  does  love  for  France  conflict  with  our 
creed,  madame?"  asked  Buckhurst,  gently.  "It  is 
only  hate  that  we  abjure." 

She  turned  her  gray  eyes  on  him.  "  I  will  tell  you : 
in  that  dreadful  moment  when  the  cavalry  of  France 
cheered  Death  in  his  own  awful  presence,  I  loved  them 
and  their  country — my  country ! — as  I  had  never  loved 
in  all  my  life.  .  .  .  And  I  hated,  too!  I  hated  the 

103 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

men  who  butchered  them— more !— I  hated  the  coun- 
try where  the  men  came  from ;  I  hated  race  and  coun- 
try and  the  blows  they  dealt,  and  the  evil  they  wrought 
on  France — my  France  !  That  is  the  truth ;  and  I 
realize  it!" 

There  was  a  silence ;  Buckhurst  slowly  unrolled  the 
wrinkled  paper  he  had  been  fingering. 

"And  now?"  he  asked,  simply. 

"Now?"  she  repeated.  "I  don't  know — truly,  I  do 
not  know."  She  turned  to  me  sorrowfully.  "I  had 
long  since  thought  that  my  heart  was  clean  of  hate, 
and  now  I  don't  know."  And,  to  Buckhurst,  again: 
"Our  creed  teaches  us  that  war  is  vile — a  savage  be- 
trayal of  humanity  by  a  few  dominant  minds;  a  dis- 
honorable ingratitude  to  God  and  country.  But  from 
that  window  I  sa\v  men  die  for  honor  of  France  with 
God's  name  on  their  lips.  I  saw  one  superb  cuiras- 
sier, trapped  down  there  in  the  street,  sit  still  on  his 
horse,  while  they  shot  at  him  from  every  window,  and 
I  heard  him  call  up  to  a  Prussian  officer  who  had  just 
fired  at  him :  '  My  friend,  you  waste  powder ;  the  heart 
of  France  is  cuirassed  by  a  million  more  like  me!" 
A  rich  flush  touched  her  face;  her  gray  eyes  grew 
brighter. 

"Is  there  a  Frenchwoman  alive  whose  blood  would 
not  stir  at  such  a  scene?"  she  said.  "They  shot  him 
through  his  armor,  his  breastplate  was  riddled,  he 
clung  to  his  horse,  always  looking  up  at  the  riflemen, 
and  I  heard  the  bullets  drumming  on  his  helmet  and 
his  cuirass  like  hailstones  on  a  tin  roof,  and  I  could 
not  look  away.  And  all  the  while  he  was  saying,  qui- 
etly :  '  It  is  quite  useless,  friends ;  France  lives !  You 
waste  your  powder!'  and  I  could  not  look  away  or 
close  my  eyes — " 

She  bent  her  head,  shivering,  and  her  interlocked 
fingers  whitened. 

104 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

"I  only  know  this/'  she  said :  " I  will  give  all  I  have 
— I  will  give  my  poor  self  to  help  the  advent  of  that 
world -wide  brotherhood  which  must  efface  national 
frontiers  and  end  all  war  in  this  sad  world.  But  if 
you  ask  me,  in  the  presence  of  war,  to  look  on  with 
impartiality,  to  watch  my  own  country  battling  for 
breath,  to  stop  my  ears  when  a  wounded  mother-land 
is  calling,  to  answer  the  supreme  cry  of  France  with 
a  passionless  cry,  'Repent!'  I  cannot  do  it — I  will  not! 
I  was  not  born  to!" 

Deeply  moved,  she  had  risen,  confronting  Buck- 
hurst,  whose  stone-cold  eyes  were  fixed  on  her. 

"  You  say  I  hold  you  unworthy,"  she  said.  "Others 
may  hold  me,  too,  unworthy  because  I  have  not  reached 
that  impartial  equipoise  whence,  impassive,  I  can  bal- 
ance my  native  land  against  its  sins  and  watch  blind 
justice  deal  with  it  all  unconcerned. 

"  In  theory  I  have  done  it — oh,  it  is  simple  to  teach 
one's  soul  in  theory!  But  when  my  eyes  saw  my 
own  land  blacken  and  shrivel  like  a  green  leaf  in  the 
fire,  and  when  with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  the  best,  the 
noblest,  the  crown  of  my  country's  chivalry  fall  rolling 
in  the  mud  of  Morsbronn  under  the  feet  of  Prussia, 
every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  was  French — hot  and 
red  and  French!  And  it  is  now;  and  it  will  always 
be — as  it  has  always  been,  though  I  did  not  under- 
stand." 

After  a  silence  Buckhurst  said:  "All  that  may  be, 
madame,  yet  not  impair  your  creed." 

"What!"  she  said,  "does  not  hatred  of  the  stranger 
impair  my  creed?" 

"It  will  die  out  and  give  place  to  reason." 

"When?  When  I  attain  the  lofty,  dispassionate 
level  I  have  never  attained?  That  will  not  be  while 
this  war  endures." 

"Who  knows?"  said  Buckhurst,  gently. 

105 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"I  know!"  replied  the  Countess,  the  pale  flames  in 
her  cheeks  deepening  again. 

"And  yet,"  observed  Buckhurst,  patiently,  "you  are 
going  to  Paradise  to  work  for  the  Internationale." 

"I  shall  try  to  do  my  work  and  love  France,"  she 
said,  steadily.  "  I  cannot  believe  that  one  renders  the 
other  impossible." 

"Yet,"  said  I,  "if  you  teach  the  nation  non-resist- 
ance, what  would  become  of  the  armies  of  France?" 

"I  shall  not  teach  non-resistance  until  we  are  at 
peace,"  she  said — "  until  there  is  not  a  German  soldier 
left  in  France.  After  that  I  shall  teach  acquiescence 
and  personal  liberty." 

I  looked  at  her  very  seriously ;  logic  had  no  dwelling- 
place  within  her  tender  and  unhappy  heart. 

Ana  what  a  hunting-ground  was  that  heart  for  men 
like  Buckhurst!  I  could  begin  to  read  that  mouse- 
colored  gentleman  now,  to  follow,  after  a  fashion,  the 
intricate  policy  which  his  insolent  mind  was  shaping 
— shaping  in  stealthy  contempt  for  me  and  for  this 
young  girl.  Thus  far  I  could  divine  the  thoughts  of 
Mr.  Buckhurst,  but  there  were  other  matters  to  account 
for.  Why  did  he  choose  to  spare  my  life  when  a  word 
would  have  sent  me  before  the  peloton  of  execution? 
Why  had  he  brought  to  me  the  fortune  in  diamonds 
which  he  had  stolen?  Why  did  he  eat  humble -pie 
before  a  young  girl  from  whom  he  and  his  companions 
nad  wrung  the  last  penny?  Why  did  he  desire  to  go 
to  Morbihan  and  be  received  among  the  elect  in  the 
Breton  village  of  Paradise? 

I  said,  abruptly :  "  So  you  are  not  going  to  denounce 
me  to  the  Prussian  provost?" 

He  lifted  his  well  -  shaped  head  and  gazed  at  the 
Countess  with  an  admirable  pathos  which  seemed  a 
mute  appeal  for  protection  from  brutality. 

"  That  question  is  a  needless  one,"  said  the  Countess, 
106 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

quietly.  "It  was  a  cruel  one,  also,  Monsieur  Scar- 
lett." 

"I  did  not  mean  it  as  an  offensive  question,"  said  I. 
"I  was  merely  reciting  a  fact,  most  creditable  to  Mr. 
Buckhurst.  Mon  Dieu,  madame,  I  am  an  officer  of 
Imperial  Police,  and  I  have  lived  to  hear  .;Iunt  ques- 
tions and  blunter  answers.  And  1:  ;t  be  true  that 
Monsieur  Buckhurst  desires  to  atone  tor  —  for  what 
has  happened,  then  it  is  perfectly  proper  for  me,  even 
as  a  prisoner  myself,  to  speak  plainly." 

I  meant  this  ti~r  i  to  thoroughly  convince  Buckhurst 
of  my  ability  to  gabble  platitude.  My  desire  that  he 
should  view  me  as  a  typical  gendarme  was  intense. 

So  I  coughed  solemnly  behind  mv  hand,  knit  my 
eyebrows,  and  laid  one  finger  alongside  of  my  nose. 

"  Is  it  not  my  duty,  as  a  guardian  of  national  inter- 
ests, to  point  out  to  Mr.  Buckhurst  his  honest  errors? 
Certaimy  it  is,  madame,  ^rid  this  is  the  proper  time." 

Turning  pompously  to  Buckhurst,  I  fancied  I  could 
almost  detect  a  sneer  on  that  inexpressive  mask  he 
wore — at  least  I  hoped  I  couid,  and  I  said,  heavily: 

"Monsieur,  for  a  number  of  years  there  has  passed 
under  our  eyes  here  in  France  certain  strange  phe- 
nomena. Thousands  of  Frenchmen  have,  so  to  speak, 
separated  themselves  from  the  rest  of  the  nation. 

"All  the  sentiments  that  the  nation  honors  itself 
by  professing  these  other  Frenchmen  rebuke — the  love 
of  country,  public  spirit,  accord  between  citizens,  so- 
cial repose,  and  respect  for  communal  law  and  order — 
these  other  Frenchmen  regard  as  the  hallucinations 
of  a  nation  of  dupes. 

"  Separated  by  such  unfortunate  ideac  from  the  na- 
tion within  whose  boundaries  thsy  live,  they  continue 
to  abuse,  even  to  threaten,  the  society  and  the  country 
which  gives  them  shelter. 

"  France  is  only  a  name  to  them ;  they  were  born  there, 

107 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

they  live  there,  they  derive  their  nourishment  from  her 
without  gratitude.  But  France  is  nothing  to  them; 
their  mother-land  is  the  Internationale  !" 

I  was  certain  now  that  the  shadow  of  a  sneer  had 
settled  in  the  corners  of  Buckhurst's  thin  lips. 

"I  do  not  speak  of  anarchists  or  of  terrorists,"  I 
continued,  nodding  as  though  profoundly  impressed 
by  my  own  sagacity.  "I  speak  of  socialists  —  that 
dangerous  society  to  which  the  cry  of  Karl  Marx  was 
addressed  with  the  warning, 'Socialists!  Unite!' 

"  The  government  has  reason  to  fear  socialism,  not 
anarchy,  for  it  will  never  happen  in  France,  w'here  the 
passion  for  individual  property  is  so  general,  that  a 
doctrine  of  brutal  destruction  could  have  the  slightest 
chance  of  success. 

"But  wait,  here  is  the  point,  Monsieur  Buckhurst 
Formerly  the  name  of  'terrorist'  was  a  shock  to  the 
entire  civilized  world;  it  evoked  the  spectres  of  a  year 
that  the  world  can  never  forget.  And  so  our  modern 
reformers,  modestly  desiring  to  evade  the  inconven- 
iences of  such  memories  among  the  people,  call  them- 
selves the  ' Internationale/  Listen  to  them;  they  are 
adroit,  they  blame  and  rebuke  violence,  they  condemn 
anarchy,  they  would  not  lay  their  hands  on  public  or 
individual  property — no,  indeed! 

"Ah,  madame,  but  you  should  hear  them  in  their 
own  clubs,  where  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  gut- 
ters, the  barriers,  and  the  abattoirs  discuss  '  individual 
property/  'the  tyranny  of  capital/  and  similar  sub- 
jects which  no  doubt  they  are  peculiarly  fitted  to  dis- 
cuss. 

"Believe  me,  madame,  the  little  coterie  which  you 
represent  is  already  the  dupe  and  victim  of  this 
terrible  Internationale.  Their  leaders  work  their  will 
through  you;  a  vast  conspiracy  against  all  social 
peace  is  spread  through  your  honest  works  of  mercy. 

108 


THE    GAME    BEGINS 

The  time  is  coming  when  the  whole  world  will  rise  to 
combat  this  Internationale;  and  when  the  mask  is 
dragged  from  its  benignant  visage,  there,  grinning  be- 
hind, will  appear  the  same  old 'Spectre  Rouge/  torch 
in  one  hand,  gun  in  the  other,  squatting  behind  a 
barricade  of  paving-blocks." 

I  wagged  my  head  dolefully. 

"  I  could  not  have  rested  had  I  not  warned  Mr.  Buck- 
hurst  of  this/'  I  said,  sentimentally. 

Which  was  fairly  well  done,  considering  that  I  was 
figuratively  lamenting  over  the  innocence  of  the  most 
accomplished  scoundrel  that  ever  sat  in  the  supreme 
council  of  the  Internationale. 

Buckhurst  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  floor. 

"If  I  thought/'  he  murmured — "if  I  believed  for  one 
instant — " 

"Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,"  I  said,  "that  you  are 
playing  into  the  hands  of  the  wickedest  villains  on 
earth!" 

"Your  earnestness  almost  converts  me/'  he  said, 
lifting  his  stealthy  eyes. 

The  Countess  appeared  weary  and  perplexed. 

"At  all  events,"  she  said,  "we  must  do  nothing  to 
embarrass  France  now ;  we  must  do  nothing  until  this 
frightful  war  is  ended." 

After  a  silence  Buckhurst  said,  "  But  you  will  go  to 
Paradise,  madame?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Countess,  listlessly. 

Now,  what  in  Heaven's  name  attracted  that  rogue 
to  Paradise? 


vn 

A  STRUGGLE  FORESHADOWED 

I  TOOK  my  breakfast  by  the  window,  watching  the 
German  soldiery  cleaning  up  Morsbronn.  For  that 
wonderful  Teutonic  administrative  mania  was  already 
manifesting  itself  while  ruined  houses  still  smoked; 
method  replaced  chaos,  order  marched  on  the  heels  of 
the  Prussian  rear-guard,  which  enveloped  Morsbronn  in 
a  whirlwind  of  Uhlans,  and  left  it  a  silent,  blackened 
landmark  in  the  August  sunshine. 

Soldiers  in  canvas  fatigue-dress,  wearing  soft,  round, 
visorless  cape:,  were  removing  the  debris  of  the  fatal 
barricade;  soldiers  with  shovel  and  hoe  filled  in  the 
trenches  and  raked  the  long,  winding  street  clean  of 
all  litter ;  soldiers  with  trowel  and  mortar  were  perched 
on  shot -torn  houses,  mending  chimneys  and  slated 
roofs  so  that  their  officers  might  enjoy  immunity  from 
rain  and  wind  and  defective  flues. 

In  the  court-yards  and  stables  I  could  see  cavalry- 
men in  stable  -  jackets,  whitewashing  walls  and  out- 
buildings and  ill-smelling  stalls,  while  others  dug  shov- 
elfuls of  slaked  lime  from  wheelbarrows  and  spread 
it  through  stable  -  yards  and  dirty  alleys.  Every- 
where quiet,  method,  order,  prompt  precision  reigned; 
I  even  noticed  a  big,  red-fisted  artilleryman  tying  up 
tall,  blue  larkspurs,  dahlias,  and  phlox  in  a  trampled 
garden,  and  he  touched  the  ragged  masses  of  bloom 
with  a  tenderness  peculiar  to  a  flower-loving  and  sen- 

IIO 


A    STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

timental  people,  whose  ultimate  ambition  is  a  quart  of 
beer,  a  radish,  and  a  green  leaf  overhead. 

At  the  corners  of  the  walls  and  blind  alleys,  pla- 
cards in  French  and  German  were  posted,  embody- 
ing regulations  governing  the  village  under  Prussian 
military  rule.  The  few  inhabitants  of  Morsbronn 
who  had  remained  in  cellars  during  the  bombard- 
ment shuffled  up  to  read  these  notices,  or  to  loiter  stu- 
pidly, gaping  at  the  Prussian  eagles  surmounting  the 
posters. 

A  soldier  came  in  and  started  the  fire  in  my  fire- 
place. When  he  went  out  I  drew  my  code-book  from 
my  breeches  -  pocket  and  tossed  it  into  the  fire.  After 
it  followed  my  commission,  my  memoranda,  and  every 
scrap  of  writing.  The  diamonds  I  placed  in  the  bosom 
of  my  flannel  shirt. 

Toward  one  o'clock  I  heard  the  shrill  piping  of  a 
goat-herd,  and  I  saw  him,  a  pallid  boy,  clumping  along 
in  his  wooden  shoes  behind  his  two  nanny-goats,  while 
the  German  soldiers,  peasants  themselves,  looked  after 
him  with  curious  sympathy. 

A  little  later  a  small  herd  of  cattle  passed,  driven  to 
pasture  by  a  stolid  Alsatian,  who  replied  to  the  soldiers' 
questions  in  German  patois  and  shrugged  his  heavy 
shoulders  like  a  Frenchman. 

A  cock  crowed  occasionally  from  some  near  dung- 
hill ;  once  I  saw  a  cat  serenely  following  the  course  of 
a  stucco  wall,  calm,  perfectly  self-composed,  ignoring 
the  blandishments  of  the  German  soldiers,  who  called, 
"Komm  mitz!  mitz!"  and  held  out  bits  of  sausage 
and  black  bread. 

A  German  ambulance  surgeon  arrived  to  see  me  in 
the  afternoon.  The  Countess  was  busy  somewhere 
with  Buckhurst,  who  had  come  with  news  for  her,  and 
the  German  surgeon's  sharp  double  rap  at  the  door 
did  not  bring  her,  so  I  called  out,  "Entrez  done!"  and 

III 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

he  stalked  in,  removing  his  fatigue-cap,  which  action 
distinguished  him  from  his  brother  officers. 

He  was  a  tall,  well-built  man,  perfectly  uniformed 
in  his  double-breasted  frocked  tunic,  blue-eyed,  blond- 
bearded,  and  immaculate  of  hand  and  face,  a  fine  type 
of  man  and  a  credit  to  any  army. 

After  a  brief  examination  he  sat  down  and  resumed 
a  very  bad  cigar,  which  had  been  smouldering  between 
his  carefully  kept  fingers. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  admiringly,  "that  I  have 
never  before  seen  just  such  a  wound.  The  spinal  col- 
umn is  not  even  grazed,  and  if,  as  I  understand  from 
you,  you  suffered  temporarily  from  complete  paralysis 
of  the  body  below  your  waist,  the  case  is  not  only  in- 
teresting but  even  remarkable." 

"Is  the  superficial  lesion  at  all  serious?"  I  asked. 

"  Not  at  all.  As  far  as  I  can  see  the  blow  from  the 
bullet  temporarily  paralyzed  the  spinal  cord.  There 
is  no  fracture,  no  depression.  I  do  not  see  why  you 
should  not  walk  if  you  desire  to." 

"When?    Now?" 

"Try  it,"  he  said,  briefly. 

I  tried.  Apart  from  a  certain  muscular  weakness 
and  a  great  fatigue,  I  found  it  quite  possible  to  stand, 
even  to  move  a  few  steps.  Then  I  sat  down  again, 
and  wras  glad  to  do  so. 

The  doctor  was  looking  at  my  legs  rather  grimly, 
and  it  suddenly  flashed  on  me  that  I  had  dropped  my 
blanket  and  he  had  noticed  my  hussar's  trousers. 

"So,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  military  prisoner?  I  un- 
derstood from  the  provost  marshal  that  you  were  a 
civilian." 

As  he  spoke  Buckhurst  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
then  sauntered  in,  quietly  greeting  the  surgeon,  who 
looked  around  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  stone 
floor.  There  was  no  longer  a  vestige  of  doubt  in  my 

112 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

mind  that  Buckhurst  was  a  German  agent,  or  at  least 
that  the  Germans  believed  him  to  be  in  their  pay.  And 
doubtless  he  was  in  their  pay,  but  to  whom  he  was 
faithful  nobody  could  know  with  any  certainty. 

"How  is  our  patient,  doctor?"  he  asked. 

"  Convalescent,"  replied  the  doctor,  shortly,  as  though 
not  exactly  relishing  the  easy  familiarity  of  this  pale- 
eyed  gentleman  in  gray. 

"Can  he  travel  to-day?"  inquired  Buckhurst,  with- 
out apparent  interest. 

"Before  he  travels,"  said  the  officer,  "it  might  be 
well  to  find  out  why  he  wears  part  of  a  hussar  uniform." 

"I've  explained  that  to  the  provost,"  observed  Buck- 
hurst, examining  his  well-kept  finger-nails.  "And  I 
have  a  pass  for  him  also — if  he  is  in  a  fit  condition  to 
travel." 

The  officer  gave  him  a  glance  full  of  frank  dislike, 
adjusted  his  sabre,  pulled  on  his  white  gloves,  and, 
bowing  very  slightly  to  me,  marched  straight  out  of 
the  room  and  down  the  stairs  without  taking  any  notice 
of  Buckhurst.  The  latter  looked  after  the  officer,  then 
his  indifferent  eyes  returned  to  me.  Presently  he  sat 
down  and  produced  a  small  slip  of  paper,  which  he  very 
carefully  twisted  into  a  cocked  hat. 

"I  suppose  you  doubt  my  loyalty  to  France,"  he 
said,  intent  on  his  bit  of  paper. 

Then,  logically  continuing  my  r61e  of  the  morning, 
I  began  to  upbraid  him  for  a  traitor  and  swear  that  I 
would  not  owe  my  salvation  to  him,  and  all  the  while 
he  was  calmly  transforming  his  paper  from  one  toy 
into  another  between  deft,  flat  fingers. 

"You  are  unjust  and  a  trifle  stupid,"  he  said.  "I 
am  paid  by  Prussia  for  information  which  I  never  give. 
But  I  have  the  entre  of  their  lines.  I  do  it  for  the  sake 
of  the  Internationale.  The  Internationale  has  a  few 
people  in  its  service.  .  .  .  And  it  pays  them  well." 
*  113 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

He  looked  squarely  at  me  as  he  said  this.  I  almost 
trembled  with  delight:  the  man  undervalued  me,  he 
had  taken  me  at  my  own  figure,  and  now,  holding  me 
in  absolute  contempt,  he  was  going  to  begin  on  me. 

"Scarlett,"  he  said,  "what  does  the  government  pay 
you?" 

I  began  to  protest  in  a  torrent  of  patriotism  and  sen- 
timentality. He  watched  me  impassively  while  I  called 
Heaven  to  witness  and  proclaimed  my  loyalty  to  France, 
ending  through  sheer  breathlessness  in  a  maundering, 
tearful  apotheosis  where  mixed  metaphors  jostled  each 
other — the  government,  the  Emperor,  and  the  French 
flag,  consecrated  in  blood — and  finally,  calling  his  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  twenty  centuries  had  once  looked 
down  on  this  same  banner,  I  collapsed  in  my  chair  and 
gave  him  his  chance. 

He  took  it.  With  subtle  flattery  he  recognized  i  me 
a  powerful  arm  of  a  corrupt  Empire,  which  Empire  he 
likened  to  the  old  man  who  rode  Sindbad  the  Sailor. 
He  admitted  my  noble  loyalty  to  France,  pointing  out, 
however,  that  devotion  to  the  Empire  was  not  devotion 
to  France,  but  the  contrary.  Skilfully  he  pictured  the 
unprepared  armies  of  the  Empire,  huddled  along  the 
frontier,  seized  and  rent  to  fragments,  one  by  one; 
adroitly  he  painted  the  inevitable  ending,  the  armies 
that  remained  cut  off  and  beaten  in  detail. 

And  as  I  listened  I  freely  admitted  to  myself  that  I 
had  undervalued  him ;  that  he  was  no  crude  Belleville 
orator,  no  sentimental  bathos  -  peddling  reformer,  no 
sansculotte  with  brains  ablaze,  squalling  for  indis- 
criminate slaughter  and  pillage ;  he  was  a  cool  student 
in  crime,  taking  no  chances  that  he  was  not  forced  to 
take,  a  calm,  adroit,  methodical  observer,  who  had  es- 
tablished a  theory  and  was  carefully  engaged  in  prov- 
ing it. 

"Scarlett,"  he  said,  in  English,  "let  us  come  to  the 
114 


A    STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

point.  I  am  a  mercenary  American ;  you  are  an  Amer- 
ican mercenary,  paid  by  the  French  government.  You 
care  nothing  for  that  government  or  for  the  country; 
you  would  drop  both  to-day  if  your  pay  ceased.  You 
and  I  are  outsiders ;  we  are  in  the  world  to  watch  our 
chances.  And  our  chance  is  here." 

He  unfolded  the  creased  bit  of  paper  and  spread  it 
out  on  his  knees,  smoothing  it  thoughtfully. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  the  Internationale?"  he  asked, 
blandly.  "  I  am  high  in  its  councils ;  Karl  Marx  knows 
less  about  the  Internationale  than  do  I.  As  for  Prussia 
and  France — bah! — it's  a  dog-fight  to  me,  and  I  lack 
even  the  interest  to  bet  on  the  German  bull-dog. 

"  Y7ou  will  know  me  better  some  day,  and  when  you 
do  you  will  know  that  I  am  a  man  who  has  determined 
to  get  rich  if  I  have  to  set  half  of  France  against  the 
other  half  and  sack  every  bank  in  the  Empire. 

"And  now  the  time  is  coming  when  the  richest  city 
in  Europe  will  be  put  to  the  sack.  You  don't  believe 
it?  Yet  you  shall  live  to  see  Paris  besieged,  and  you 
shall  live  to  see  Paris  surrender,  and  you  shall  live  to 
see  the  Internationale  rise  up  from  nowhere,  seize  the 
government  by  the  throat,  and  choke  it  to  death  under 
the  red  flag  of  universal — ahem!  .  .  .  license" — the 
faintest  sneer  came  into  his  pallid  face — "and  every 
city  of  France  shall  be  a  commune,  and  we  shall  pass 
from  city  to  city,  leisurely,  under  the  law — our  laws, 
which  we  will  make — and  I  pity  the  man  among  us 
who  cannot  place  his  millions  in  the  banks  of  England 
and  America!" 

He  began  to  worry  the  creased  bit  of  paper  again, 
stealthy  eyes  on  the  floor. 

"The  revolt  is  as  certain  as  death  itself,"  he  said. 
"  The  Society  of  the  Internationale  honeycombs  Europe 
— your  police  archives  show  you  that — and  I  tell  you 
that,  of  the  two  hundred  thousand  soldiers  of  the  na- 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

tional  guard  in  Paris  to-day,  ninety  per  cent,  are  ours 
— ours,  soul  and  body.     You  don't  believe  it?     Wait! 

"Yet,  for  a  moment,  suppose  I  am  right?  Where 
are  the  government  forces?  Who  can  stop  us  from 
working  our  will?  Not  the  fragments  of  beaten  and 
exhausted  armies!  Not  the  thousands  of  prisoners 
which  you  will  see  sent  into  captivity  across  the  Rhine ! 
What  has  the  government  to  lean  on — a  government 
discredited,  impotent,  beaten!  What  in  the  world  can 
prevent  a  change,  an  uprising,  a  revolution?  Why, 
even  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  the  Internationale 
and  its  secret  Central  Committee — to  which  I  have  the 
honor  to  belong" — and  here  his  sneer  was  frightful — 
"  I  tell  you  that  before  a  conquering  German  army 
had  recrossed  the  Rhine  this  land  of  chattering  apes 
would  be  tearing  one  another  for  very  want  of  a  uni- 
versal scape-goat. 

"  But  that  is  exactly  where  we  come  into  the  affair. 
We  find  the  popular  scape-goat  and  point  him  out — 
the  government,  my  friend.  And  all  we  have  to  do  is 
to  let  the  mob  loose,  stand  back,  and  count  profits." 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  idly  twisting  his 
crumpled  bit  of  paper  in  one  hand. 

"  I  am  not  fool  enough  to  believe  that  our  reign  will 
last,"  he  said.  "It  may  last  a  month,  two  months, 
perhaps  three.  Then  we  leaders  will  be  at  one  another's 
throats — and  the  game  is  up!  It's  always  so — mob 
rule  can't  last — it  never  has  lasted  and  never  will.  But 
the  prudent  man  will  make  hay  before  the  brief  sun- 
shine is  ended ;  I  expect  to  economize  a  little,  and  set 
aside  enough — well,  enough  to  make  it  pay,  you  see." 

He  looked  up  at  me  quietly. 

I  am  perfectly  willing  to  tell  you  this,  even  ^f  you 
used  your  approaching  liberty  to  alarm  the  entire  coun- 
try, from  the  Emperor  to  the  most  obscure  scullion  in 
the  Tuileries.  Nothing  can  stop  us  now,  nothing  in 

116 


A    STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

the  world  can  prevent  our  brief  reign.  Because  these 
things  are  certain,  the  armies  of  France  will  be  beaten 
— they  are  already  beaten.  Paris  will  hold  out ;  Paris 
will  fall;  and  with  Paris  down  goes  France!  And  as 
sure  as  the  sun  shall  rise  on  a  conquered  people,  so 
sure  shall  rise  that  red  spectre  we  call  the  Inter- 
nationale." 

The  man  astonished  me.  He  put  into  words  a 
prophecy  which  had  haunted  me  from  the  day  that 
war  was  declared — a  prophetic  fear  which  had  haunted 
men  higher  up  in  the  service  of  the  Empire — thinking 
men  who  knew  what  war  meant  to  a  country  whose 
government  was  as  rotten  as  its  army  was  unprepared, 
whose  political  chiefs  were  as  vain,  incompetent,  igno- 
rant, and  weak  as  were  the  chiefs  of  its  brave  army — 
an  army  riddled  with  politics,  weakened  by  intrigue 
and  neglect — an  army  used  ignobly,  perverted,  cheated, 
lied  to,  betrayed,  abandoned. 

That,  for  once,  Buckhurst  spoke  the  truth  as  he 
foresaw  it,  I  did  not  question.  That  he  was  right  in 
his  infernal  calculations,  I  was  fearsomely  persuaded. 
And  now  the  game  had  advanced,  and  I  must  display 
what  cards  I  had,  or  pretended  to  have. 

"Are  you  trying  to  bribe  me?"  I  blurted  out,  weakly. 

"Bribe  you,"  he  repeated,  in  contempt.  "No.  If 
the  prospect  does  not  please  you,  I  have  only  to  say 
a  word  to  the  provost  marshal." 

"  Wouldn't  that  injure  your  prospects  with  the  Coun- 
tess?" I  said,  with  fat-brained  cunning.  "You  cannot 
betray  me  and  hope  for  her  friendship." 

He  glanced  up  at  me,  measured  my  mental  capacity, 
then  nodded. 

"I  can't  force  you  that  way,"  he  admitted. 

"  He's  bound  to  get  to  Paradise.  Why?"  I  wondered, 
and  said,  aloud: 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

117 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  I  want  immunity  from  the  secret  police,  Mr.  Scarlett '! 

"Where?" 

"Wherever  I  may  be." 

"In  Morbihan?"" 

"Yes." 

"In  Paradise?" 

"Yes." 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then,  looking  him  in  the 
eye,  "What  do  I  gain?" 

Ah,  the  cat  was  out  now.  Buckhurst  did  not  move, 
but  I  saw  the  muscles  of  his  face  relax,  and  he  drew  a 
deep,  noiseless  breath. 

"Well,"  he  said,  coolly,  "you  may  keep  those  dia- 
monds, for  one  thing." 

Presently  I  said,  "  And  for  the  next  thing?" 

"You  are  high-priced,  Mr.  Scarlett,"  he  observed. 

"Oh,  very,"  I  said,  with  that  offensive,  swaggering 
menace  in  my  voice  which  is  peculiar  to  the  weak 
criminal  the  world  over. 

So  I  asserted  myself  and  scowled  at  him  and  told 
him  I  was  no  fool  and  taunted  him  with  my  impor- 
tance to  his  schemes  and  said  I  was  not  born  yesterday, 
and  that  if  Paris  was  to  be  divided  I  knew  what  part 
I  wanted  and  meant  to  stand  no  nonsense  from  him 
or  anybody. 

All  of  which  justified  the  opinion  he  had  already 
formed  of  me,  and  justified  something  else,  too — his 
faith  in  his  own  eloquence,  logic,  and  powers  of  per- 
suasion. Not  that  I  meant  to  make  his  mistake  and 
undervalue  him;  he  was  an  intelligent,  capable,  re- 
markable criminal — with  the  one  failing — an  over- 
confident contempt  of  all  men. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you,"  said  I. 
"Why  do  you  desire  to  go  to  Paradise?" 

He  did  not  answer  me  at  once,  and  I  studied  his 
passionless  profile  as  he  gazed  out  of  the  window. 

118 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

"Well,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  shall  not  tell  you." 

"Why  not?"  I  demanded. 

" — But  I'll  say  this,"  he  continued.  "I  want  you  to 
come  to  Paradise  with  me  and  that  fool  of  a  woman. 
I  want  you  to  report  to  your  government  that  you  are 
watching  the  house  in  Paradise,  and  that  you  are 
hoping  to  catch  me  there." 

"How  can  I  do  that?"  I  asked.  "As  soon  as  the 
government  catches  the  Countess  de  Vassart  she  will 
Le  sent  across  the  frontier." 

"  Not  if  you  inform  your  government  that  you  desire 
to  use  her  and  the  others  as  a  bait  to  draw  me  to  Para- 
dise." 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  I  asked,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  said  Buckhurst,  "that's  it." 

"And  you  do  not  desire  to  inform  me  why  you  are 
going  to  stay  in  Paradise?" 

"Don't  you  think  you'll  be  clever  enough  to  find 
out?"  he  asked,  with  a  sneer. 

I  did  think  so;  more  than  that,  I  let  him  see  that 
I  thought  so,  and  he  was  contented  with  my  con- 
ceit. 

"  One  thing  more,"  I  said,  blustering  a  little,  "  I  want 
to  know  whether  you  mean  any  harm  to  that  innocent 
girl?" 

"Who?  The  Countess?  What  do  you  mean?  Harm 
her?  Do  you  think  I  waste  my  thoughts  on  that  little 
fool?  She  is  not  a  factor  in  anything — except  that 
just  now  I'm  using  her  and  mean  to  use  her  house  in 
Paradise." 

"Haven't  you  stripped  her  of  every  cent  she  has?" 
I  asked.  "What  do  you  want  of  her  now?"  And  I 
added  something  about  respect  due  to  women. 

"Oh  yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  with  a  vague  glance  at 
the  street  below.  "You  need  not  worry;  nobody's 
going  to  hurt  her — "  He  suddenly  shifted  his  eyes  to 

119 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

me.     "You  haven't  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  have  you?" 
he  asked,  in  faint  disgust. 

I  saw  that  he  thought  me  weak  enough  for  any  sen- 
timent, even  a  noble  one. 

"  If  you  think  it  pays/'  he  muttered,  "marry  her  and 
beat  her,  for  all  I  care ;  but  don't  play  loose  with  me,  my 
friend;  as  a  plain  matter  of  business  it  won't  pay  you.'' 

"  Is  that  a  threat?"  I  asked,  in  the  bullying  tone  of  a 
born  coward. 

"  No,  not  a  threat,  a  plain  matter  of  profit  and  loss, 
a  simple  business  proposition.  For,  suppose  you  be- 
tray me — and,  by  a  miracle,  live  to  boast  of  it?  What 
is  your  reward?  A  colonelcy  in  the  Military  Police 
with  a  few  thousand  francs  salary,  and,  in  your  old 
age,  a  pension  which  might  permit  you  to  eat  meat 
twice  a  week.  Against  that,  balance  what  I  offer — 
free  play  in  a  helpless  city,  and  no  one  to  hinder  you 
from  salting  away  as  many  millions  as  you  can  carry 
off!" 

Presently  I  said,  weakly,  "  And  what,  once  more,  is 
the  service  you  ask  of  me?" 

"I  ask  you  to  notify  the  government  that  you  are 
watching  Paradise,  that  you  do  not  arrest  the  Countess 
and  Dr.  Delmont  because  you  desire  to  use  them  as  a 
bait  to  catch  me." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"That  is  all.  We  will  start  for  Paris  together;  I 
shall  leave  you  before  we  get  there.  But  I'll  see  you 
later  in  Paradise." 

"You  refuse  to  tell  me  why  you  wish  to  stay  at  the 
house  in  Paradise?" 

"  Yes,  ...  I  refuse.  And,  by-the-way,  the  Countess 
is  to  think  that  I  have  presented  myself  in  Paris  and 
that  the  government  has  pardoned  me." 

"  You  are  willing  to  believe  that  I  will  not  have  you 
arrested?" 

120 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  promise.  If  you  are  fool  enough 
to  try  it — try  it!  But  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  the 
chance  in  Paris — only  in  Paradise." 

"You  don't  require  my  word  of  honor?" 

"Word  of — what?  Well — no;  .  .  .  it's  a  form  I  can 
dispense  with." 

"But  how  can  you  protect  yourself?" 

"  If  all  the  protection  I  had  was  a  '  word  of  honor, ' 
I'd  be  in  a  different  business,  my  friend." 

"And  you  are  willing  to  risk  me,  and  you  are  per- 
fectly capable  of  taking  care  of  yourself?" 

"I  think  so,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Trusting  to  my  common-sense  as  a  business  man 
not  to  be  fool  enough  to  cut  my  own  throat  by  cutting 
yours?"  I  persisted. 

"  Exactly,  and  trusting  to  a  few  other  circumstances, 
the  details  of  which  I  beg  permission  to  keep  to  my- 
self," he  said,  with  a  faint  sneer. 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window ;  at  the  same  mo- 
ment I  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  below. 

"I  believe  that  is  our  carriage/'  he  said.  "Are  you 
ready  to  start,  Mr.  Scarlett?" 

"Now?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  dawdling  over 
anything.  Come,  sir,  there  is  nothing  very  serious 
the  matter  with  you,  is  there?" 

I  said  nothing ;  he  knew,  of  course,  the  exact  state  of 
the  wound  I  had  received,  that  the  superficial  injury 
was  of  no  account,  that  the  shock  had  left  me  sound 
as  a  silver  franc  though  a  trifle  weak  in  the  hips  and 
knees. 

"  Is  the  Countess  de  Vassart  to  go  with  us?"  I  asked, 
trying  to  find  a  reason  for  these  events  which  were 
succeeding  one  another  too  quickly  to  suit  me. 

He  gave  me  an  absent-minded  nod ;  a  moment  later 
the  Countess  entered.  She  had  mended  her  black 

121 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

cr£pe  gown  where  I  tore  it  when  I  hung  in  the  shadow 
of  death  under  the  battlements  of  La  Trappe.  She 
wore  black  gloves,  a  trifle  shabby,  and  carried  a  worn 
satchel  in  her  hands. 

Buckhurst  aided  me  to  rise,  the  Countess  threw  my 
hussar  jacket  over  my  shoulders  and  buttoned  it;  I 
felt  the  touch  of  her  cool,  little  fingers  on  my  hot,  un- 
shaved  throat. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  convalescence,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Lean  on  me,  monsieur." 

My  head  swam;  hros  and  knees  were  without 
strength;  she  aided  me  down  the  stairway  and  out 
into  the  pale  sunshine,  where  stood  the  same  mud- 
splashed,  rusty  vehicle  which  had  brought  us  hither 
from  La  Trappe. 

The  Countess  had  only  a  satchel  and  a  valise ;  Buck- 
hurst's  luggage  comprised  a  long,  flat,  steel-bound  box, 
a  satchel,  and  a  parcel.  I  had  nothing.  My  baggage, 
which  I  had  left  in  Morsbronn,  had  without  doubt 
been  confiscated  long  since ;  my  field  -  glasses,  sabre, 
and  revolver  \vere  gone;  I  had  only  what  clothes  I 
was  wearing — a  dirty,  ragged,  gray-blue  flannel  shirt, 
my  muddy  jacket,  scarlet  riding-breeches,  and  officer's 
boots.  But  in  one  of  the  hip-pockets  of  my  breeches 
I  carried  a  fortune  in  diamonds. 

As  I  stood  beside  the  carriage,  wondering  how  I 
was  going  to  get  in,  I  felt  an  arm  slip  under  my  neck 
and  another  slide  gently  under  my  knees,  and  Buck- 
hurst  lifted  me.  Beneath  the  loose,  gray  coat-sleeves 
his  bent  arms  were  rigid  as  steel;  his  supple  frame 
straightened;  he  moved  a  step  forward  and  laid  me 
on  the  shabby  cushions. 

The  Countess  looked  at  me,  turned  and  glanced  up 
at  her  smoke-blackened  house,  where  a  dozen  Prussian 
soldiers  leaned  from  the  lower  windows  smoking  their 
long  porcelain  pipes  and  the  provost  marshal  stood  in 

122 


A    STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

the  doorway,  helmeted,  spurred,  immaculate  from  golden 
cheek-guard  to  the  glittering  tip  of  his  silver  scabbard. 
An  Uhlan,  dismounted,  stood  on  guard  below  the  steps, 
his  lance  at  a  "present,"  the  black-and-white  swallow- 
tailed  pennon  drooping  from  the  steel  point. 

The  Countess  bent  her  pretty  head  under  its  small 
black  hat;  the  provost's  white-gloved  hand  flew  to  his 
helmet  peak. 

"Fear  nothing,  madame,"  he  said,  pompously. 
"Your  house  and  its  contents  are  safe  until  you  re- 
turn. This  village  is  now  German  soil." 

The  Countess  looked  at  him  steadily,  gravel}r. 

"  I  thank  you,  monsieur,  but  frontiers  are  not  changed 
in  a  day." 

But  she  was  mistaken.  Als^  e  henceforth  must 
be  written  Elsass,  and  the  devas:.ated  province  called 
Lothringen  was  never  again  to  be  written  Lorraine. 

The  Countess  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  took  her 
place  beside  me;  Buckhurst  followed,  seating  himself 
opposite  us,  and  the  Alsatian  driver  mounted  to  the 
box. 

"Your  safe-conduct  carries  you  to  the  French  out- 
posts at  Saverne,"  said  the  provost,  dryly.  "If  there 
are  no  longer  French  outposts  at  Saverne,  you  may 
demand  a  vise  for  your  pass  and  continue  south  to 
Strasbourg." 

Buckhurst  half  turned  towards  the  driver.  "  Allez," 
he  said,  quietly,  and  the  two  gaunt  horses  moved  on. 

There  was  a  chill  in  the  white  sunshine — the  first 
touch  of  autumn.  Not  a  trace  of  the  summer's  balm 
remained  in  the  air;  every  tree  on  the  mountain  out- 
lines stood  out  sharp-cut  in  the  crystalline  light;  the 
swift  little  streams  that  followed  the  road  ran  clear 
above  autumn-brown  pebbles  and  golden  sands. 

Distant  beachwoods  were  turning  yellow;  yellow 
gorse  lay  like  patches  of  sunshine  on  the  foot-hills; 

123 


THE   MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

oceans  of  yellow  grain  belted  the  terraced  vineyards. 
Here  and  there  long,  velvety,  black  strips  cut  the  green 
and  gold,  the  trail  of  firs  which  had  scarred  the  grain 
belts ;  here  and  there  pillars  of  smoke  floated,  dominat- 
ing blue  woodlands,  where  the  flames  of  exploding 
shells  had  set  the  forest  afire. 

Already  from  the  plateau  I  could  see  a  streak  of 
silver  reflecting  the  intense  blue  sky — the  Rhine,  upon 
whose  westward  cliffs  France  had  mounted  guard  but 
yesterday. 

And  now  the  Rhine  was  lost,  and  the  vast  granite 
bastions  of  the  Vosges  looked  out  upon  a  sea  of  German 
forests.  Above  the  Col  du  Pigeonnier  the  semaphore 
still  glistened,  but  its  signals  now  travelled  eastward, 
and  strange  flags  fluttered  on  its  invisible  halliards. 
And  every  bridge  was  guarded  by  helmeted  men  who 
halted  us,  and  every  tunnel  was  barred  by  mounted 
Uhlans  who  crossed  their  lances  to  the  ominous  shout : 
"  Wer  da?  On  ne  basse  bas!"  The  Vosges  were  lit- 
erally crawling  with  armed  men! 

Driving  slowly  along  the  base  of  the  hills,  I  had 
glimpses  of  rocky  defiles  which  pierced  the  moun- 
tain wall;  and  through  every  defile  poured  infantry 
and  artillery  in  unbroken  columns,  and  over  every 
mountain  pass  streamed  endless  files  of  horsemen. 
Railroad  tunnels  were  choked  with  slowly  moving 
trains  piled  high  with  artillery;  viaducts  glistened 
with  helmets  all  moving  westward ;  every  hillock,  every 
crag,  every  height  had  its  group  of  tiny  dark  dots  or 
its  solitary  Uhlan. 

Very  far  away  I  heard  cannon — so  far  away  that  the 
hum  of  the  cannonade  was  no  louder  than  the  panting 
of  our  horses  on  the  white  hill-road,  and  I  could  hear 
it  only  when  the  carriage  stopped  at  intervals. 

"Do  we  take  the  railroad  at  Saverne?"  I  asked  at 
last.  "Is  there  a  railroad  there?" 

124 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

Buckhurst  looked  up  at  me.  "It  is  rather  strange 
that  a  French  officer  should  not  know  the  railroads  in 
his  own  country,"  he  said. 

I  was  silent.  I  was  not  the  only  officer  whose  shame 
was  his  ignorance  of  the  country  he  had  sworn  to  de- 
fend. Long  before  the  war  broke  out,  every  German 
regimental  officer,  commissioned  and  non-commissioned, 
carried  a  better  map  of  France  than  could  be  found  in 
France  itself.  And  the  French  government  had  issued 
to  us  a  few  wretched  charts  of  Germany,  badly  printed, 
full  of  gross  errors,  one  or  two  maps  to  a  regiment, 
and  a  few  scattered  about  among  the  corps  headquar- 
ters— among  officers  who  did  not  even  know  the  general 
topography  of  their  own  side  of  the  Rhine. 

"  Is  there  a  railroad  at  Saverne?"  I  repeated,  sullenly. 

"  You  will  take  a  train  at  Strasbourg/'  replied  Buck- 
hurst 

"And  then?" 

"And  then  you  go  to  Avricourt,"  he  said.  "I  sup- 
pose at  least  you  know  where  that  is?" 

"It  is  on  the  route  to  Paris,"  said  I,  keeping  my 
temper.  "Are  we  going  direct  to  Paris?" 

"Madame  de  Vassart  desires  to  go  there,"  he  said, 
glancing  at  her  with  a  sort  of  sneaking  deference  which 
he  now  assumed  in  her  presence. 

"It  is  true,"  said  the  Countess,  turning  to  me.  "I 
wish  to  rest  for  a  little  whi1  -  before  I  go  to  Point  Para- 
dise. I  am  curiously  tired  cf  poverty,  Monsieur  Scar- 
lett," she  added,  and  held  out  her  shabby  gloves  with 
a  gesture  of  despair ;  "  I  am  reduced  to  very  little — I 
have  scarcely  anything  left,  .  .  .  and  I  am  weak 
enough  to  long  for  the  scent  of  the  winter  violets  on 
the  boulevards." 

With  a  faint  smile  she  touched  the  bright  hair  above 
her  brow,  where  the  wind  had  flung  a  gleaming  tendril 
over  her  black  veil. 

125 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

As  I  looked  at  her,  I  marvelled  that  she  had  found 
it  possible  to  forsake  all  that  was  fair  and  lovely  in 
life,  to  dare  ignore  caste,  to  deliberately  face  ridicule 
and  insult  and  the  scornful  anger  of  her  own  kind, 
for  the  sake  of  the  filthy  scum  festering  in  the  sink- 
holes of  the  world. 

There  are  brave  priests  who  go  among  lepers,  there 
are  brave  missionaries  who  dispute  with  the  devil  over 
the  souls  of  half-apes  in  the  Dark  Continent.  Under 
the  Cross  they  do  the  duty  they  were  bred  to. 

But  she  was  bred  to  other  things.  Her  lungs  were 
never  made  to  breathe  the  polluted  atmosphere  of  the 
proletariat,  yelping  and  slavering  in  their  kennels; 
her  strait  young  soul  was  never  born  for  communion 
with  the  crooked  souls  of  social  pariahs,  .vith  the 
stunted  and  warped  intelligence  of  fanatics,  \vith  the 
crippled  but  fierce  minds  which  dominated  the  Inter- 
nationale. 

Not  that  such  contact  could  ever  taint  her;  but  it 
might  break  her  heart  one  day. 

"You  will  think  me  very  weak  and  cowardly  to 
seek  shelter  and  comfort  at  such  a  time,"  she  said, 
raising  her  gray  eyes  to  me.  "  But  I  feel  as  though  all 
my  strength  had  slipped  away  from  me.  I  mean  to 
go  back  to  my  work ;  I  only  need  a  few  days  of  quiet 
among  familiar  scenes  —  pleasant  scenes  that  I  knew 
when  I  was  young.  I  think  that  if  I  could  only  see 
a  single  care-free  face — only  one  among  all  those  who 
— who  once  seemed  to  love  me — " 

She  turned  her  head  quickly  and  stared  out  at  the 
tall  pines  which  fringed  the  dusty  road. 

Buckhurst  blinked  at  her. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  last  Prussian 
outpost  hailed  us.  I  had  been  asleep  for  hours,  but 
was  awakened  by  the  clatter  of  horses,  and  I  opened 

126 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

my  eyes  to  see  a  dozen  Uhlans  come  cantering  up 
and  surround  our  carriage. 

After  a  long  discussion  with  Buckhurst  and  a  rigid 
scrutiny  of  our  permit  to  pass  the  lines,  the  slim  officer 
in  command  vis6d  the  order.  One  of  the  troopers  tied 
a  white  handkerchief  to  his  lance-tip,  wheeled  his  wiry 
horse,  and,  followed  by  a  trumpeter,  trotted  off  ahead 
of  us.  Our  carriage  creaked  after  them,  slowly  moving 
to  the  summit  of  a  hill  over  which  the  road  rose. 

Presently,  very  far  away  on  the  gray-green  hill-side, 
I  saw  a  bit  of  white  move.  The  Uhlan  nourished  his 
lance  from  which  the  handkerchief  fluttered ;  the  trump- 
eter set  his  trumpet  to  his  lips  and  blew  the  parley. 

One  minute,  two,  three,  ten  passed.  Then,  distant 
galloping  sounded  along  the  road,  nearer,  nearer; 
three  horsemen  suddenly  wheeled  into  view  ahead — 
French  dragoons,  advancing  at  a  solid  gallop.  The 
Jhlan  writh  the  flag  spurred  forward  to  meet  them, 
saluted,  wheeled  his  horse,  and  came  back. 

Paid  mercenary  that  I  was,  my  heart  began  to  beat 
very  fast  at  sight  of  those  French  troopers  with  their 
steel  helmets  bound  with  leopard-hide  and  their  horse- 
hair plumes  whipping  the  breeze,  and  their  sun-bronzed, 
alert  faces  and  pleasant  eyes.  I  had  had  enough  of 
die  supercilious,  near-sighted  eyes  of  the  Teuton. 

As  for  the  young  Countess,  she  sat  there  smiling, 
while  the  clumsy  dragoons  came  rattling  up,  beaming 
at  my  red  riding-breeches,  and  all  saluting  the  Count- 
ess with  a  cheerful  yet  respectful  swagger  that  touched 
me  deeply  as  I  noted  the  lines  of  hunger  in  their  lean 
jaws. 

And  now  the  brief  ceremony  was  over  and  our  rusty 
vehicle  moved  off  down  the  hill,  while  the  Uhlans  turned 
bridle  and  clattered  off,  scattering  showers  of  muddy 
gravel  in  the  rising  wind. 

The  remains  of  our  luncheon  lay  in  a  basket  under 

127 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

our  seat — plenty  of  bread  and  beef,  and  nearly  a  quart 
of  red  wine. 

"Call  the  escort — they  are  starving,"  I  said  to  Buck- 
hurst. 

"I  think  not/'  he  said,  coolly.     "I  may  eat  again." 

"Call  the  escort!"  I  repeated,  sharply. 

Buckhurst  looked  up  at  me  in  silence,  then  glanced 
warily  at  the  Countess. 

A  few  moments  later  the  gaunt  dragoons  were  munch- 
ing dry  bread  as  they  rode,  passing  the  bottle  from 
saddle  to  saddle. 

We  were  ascending  another  hill ;  the  Countess,  anx- 
ious to  stretch  her  limbs,  had  descended  to  the  road, 
and  now  walked  ahead,  one  hand  holding  her  hat, 
which  the  ever-freshening  wind  threatened. 

Buckhurst  bent  towards  me  and  said:  "My  friend, 
your  suggestion  that  we  deprive  ourselves  to  feed  those 
cavalrymen  was  a  trifle  peremptory  in  tone.  I  am 
wondering  how  much  your  tone  will  change  when  we 
reach  Paris." 

"You  will  see,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  of  course  I'll  see,"  he  said,  .  .  .  "and  so  will 
you." 

"I  thought  you  had  means  to  protect  yourself,"  I 
observed. 

"  I  have.  Besides,  I  think  you  would  rather  keep 
those  diamonds  than  give  them  up  for  the  pleasure  of 
playing  me  false." 

I  laughed  in  a  mean  manner,  which  reassured  him. 
"Look  here,"  said  I,  "if  I  were  to  make  trouble  for 
you  in  Paris  I'd  be  the  most  besotted  fool  in  France, 
and  you  know  it." 

He  nodded. 

And  so  I  should  have  been.  For  there  was  something 
vastly  more  important  to  do  than  to  arrest  John  Buck- 
hurst for  theft ;  and  before  I  suffered  a  hair  of  his  sleek, 

128 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

gray  head  to  come  to  harm  I'd  have  hung  myself  for  a 
hopeless  idiot.  Oh  no ;  my  friend  John  Buckhurst  had 
such  colossal  irons  in  the  fire  that  I  knew  it  would  take 
many  more  men  as  strong  as  he  to  lift  them  out  again. 
And  I  meant  to  know  what  those  irons  were  for,  and 
who  were  the  gentlemen  to  aid  him  lift  them.  So  not 
only  must  Buckhurst  remain  free  as  a  lively  black 
cricket  in  a  bog,  but  he  must  not  be  frightened  if  I  could 
help  it. 

And  to  that  end  I  leered  at  him  knowingly,  and 
presently  bestowed  a  fatuous  wink  upon  him. 

It  was  unpleasant  for  me  to  do  this,  for  it  implied  that 
I  was  his  creature;  and,  in  spite  of  the  remorseless  re- 
quirements of  my  profession,  I  have  an  inborn  hatred 
of  falsehood  in  any  shape.  To  lie  in  the  line  of  duty 
is  one  of  the  disagreeable  necessities  of  certain  pro- 
fessions; and  mine  is  not  the  only  one  nor  the  least 
respectable.  The  art  of  war  is  to  deceive;  strategy 
is  the  art  of  demonstrating  falsehood  plausibly;  there 
is  nothing  respectable  in  the  military  profession  except 
the  manual — which  is  now  losing  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  advanced  theorists.  All  men  are  liars — a  few 
are  unselfish  ones. 

"You  have  given  me  your  word  of  honor,"  said 
Buckhurst. 

"Have  I?"  I  had  not,  and  he  knew  it.  I  hoped  I 
might  not  be  forced  to. 

"Haven't  you?"  asked  Buckhurst. 

"You  sneered  at  my  word  of  honor,"  I  said,  with  all 
the  spite  of  a  coward;  "now  you  don't  get  it." 

He  no  longer  wanted  it,  but  all  he  said  was:  "Don't 
take  unnecessary  offence;  you're  smart  enough  to 
know  when  you're  well  off." 

I  dozed  towards  sunset,  waking  when  the  Countess 
stepped  back  into  the  carriage  and  seated  herself  by 
»  129 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

my  side.  Then,  after  a  little,  I  slept  again.  And  it 
was  nearly  dark  when  I  was  awakened  by  the  startling 
whistle  of  a  locomotive.  The  carriage  appeared  to  be 
moving  slowly  between  tall  rows  of  poplars  and  tele- 
graph-poles ;  a  battery  of  artillery  was  clanking  along 
just  ahead.  In  the  dark  southern  sky  a  luminous  haze 
hung. 

"  The  lights  of  Strasbourg/'  whispered  the  Countess, 
as  I  sat  up,  rubbing  my  hot  eyes. 

I  looked  for  Buckhurst;  his  place  was  empty. 

"Mr.  Buckhurst  left  us  at  the  railroad  crossing," 
she  said. 

"Left  us!" 

"Yes!  He  boarded  a  tram  loaded  with  wounded. 
.  .  .  He  had  business  to  transact  in  Colmar  before 
he  presented  himself  to  the  authorities  in  Paris.  .  .  . 
And  we  are  to  go  by  way  of  Avricourt." 

So  Buckhurst  had  already  begun  to  execute  his 
programme.  But  the  abrupt,  infernal  precision  of  the 
man  jarred  me  unpleasantly. 

.  In  the  dark  I  felt  cautiously  for  my  diamonds;  they 
were  safe  in  my  left  hip-pocket. 

The  wind  had  died  out,  and  a  fine  rain  began  to  filter 
down  through  a  mist  which  lay  over  the  flat  plain  as 
we  entered  the  suburbs  of  Strasbourg. 

Again  and  again  we  were  halted  by  sentinels,  then 
permitted  to  proceed  in  the  darkness,  along  deserted 
avenues  lighted  by  gas-jets  burning  in  tall  bronze 
lamp-posts  through  a  halo  of  iridescent  fog. 

We  passed  deserted  suburban  villas,  blank  stretches 
of  stucco  walls  enclosing  gardens,  patches  of  cabbages, 
thickets  of  hop-poles  to  which  the  drenched  vines  clung 
fantastically,  and  scores  of  abandoned  houses,  shutters 
locked,  blinds  drawn. 

High  to  the  east  the  ramparts  of  the  city  loomed, 
130 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

set  at  regular  distances  with  electric  lights;  from  the 
invisible  citadel  rockets  were  rising,  spraying  the  fog 
with  jewelled  flakes,  crumbling  to  golden  powder  in  the 
starless  void  above. 

Presently  our  carriage  stopped  before  a  tremen- 
dous mass  of  masonry  pierced  by  an  iron,  arched  gate, 
through  which  double  files  of  farm-wagons  were  roll- 
ing, escorted  by  customs  guards  and  marines. 

"No  room!  no  room!"  shouted  the  soldiers.  "This 
is  the  Porte  de  Pierre.  Go  to  the  Porte  de  Sa- 
verne!" 

So  we  passed  on  beneath  the  bastions,  skirting  the 
ramparts  to  the  Porte  de  Saverne,  where,  after  a  ha- 
rangue, the  gate  guards  admitted  us,  and  we  entered 
Strasbourg  in  the  midst  of  a  crush  of  vehicles.  At  the 
railroad  station  hundreds  of  cars  choked  the  tracks; 
loaded  freight  trains  stalled  in  the  confusion,  trains 
piled  with  ammunition  and  provisions,  trains  crowd- 
ed with  horses  and  cattle  and  sheep,  filling  the  air 
with  melancholy  plaints;  locomotives  backing  and 
whistling,  locomotives  blowing  off  deafening  blasts  of 
steam;  gongs  sounding,  bells  ringing,  station-masters' 
trumpets  blowing;  and,  above  all,  the  immense  clam- 
or of  human  voices. 

The  Countess  and  our  Alsatian  driver  helped  me 
to  the  platform.  I  looked  around  with  dread  at  the 
throng,  being  too  weak  to  battle  for  a  foothold ;  but  the 
brave  Alsatian  elbowed  a  path  for  me,  and  the  Countess 
warded  off  the  plunging  human  cattle,  and  at  length 
I  found  myself  beside  the  cars  where  line-soldiers  stood 
guard  at  every  ten  paces- and  gendarmes  stalked  about, 
shoving  the  frantic  people  into  double  files. 

"Last  train  for  Paris!"  bawled  an  official  in  gilt  and 
blue;  and  to  the  anxious  question  of  the  Countess 
he  shook  his  head,  saying,  "There  is  no  room,  ma- 
dame;  it  is  utterly  impossible — pardon,  I  cannot  discuss 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

anything  now ;  the  Prussians  are  signalled  at  Ostwald, 
and  their  shells  may  fall  here  at  any  moment." 

"  If  that  is  so,"  I  said,  "  this  lady  cannot  stay  here!" 

"  I  can't  help  that!"  he  shouted,  starting  off  down  the 
platform. 

I  caught  the  sleeve  of  a  captain  of  gendarmerie  who 
was  running  to  enter  a  first-class  compartment. 

"Eh — what  do  you  want,  monsieur?"  he  snapped, 
in  surprise.  Then,  as  I  made  him  a  sign,  he  regarded 
me  with  amazement.  I  had  given  the  distress  signal 
of  the  secret  police. 

"Try  to  make  room  for  this  lady  in  your  compart- 
ment," I  said. 

"Willingly,  monsieur.  Hasten,  madame ;  the  train  is 
already  moving!"  and  he  tore  open  the  compartment 
door  and  swung  the  Countess  to  the  car  platform. 

I  suppose  she  thought  I  was  to  follow,  for  when  the 
officer  slammed  the  compartment  door  she  stepped  to 
the  window  and  tried  to  open  it. 

"  Quick!"  she  cried  to  the  guard,  who  had  just  locked 
the  door;  "help  that  officer  in!  He  is  wounded — can't 
you  see  he  is  wounded?" 

The  train  was  gliding  along  the  asphalt  platform; 
I  hobbled  beside  the  locked  compartment,  where  she 
stood  at  the  "vindow. 

"Will  you  unlock  that  door?"  said  the  Countess  to 
the  guard.  "I  wish  to  leave  the  train!" 

The  cars  were  rolling  a  little  faster  than  I  could  move 
along. 

The  Countess  leaned  from  the  open  window ;  through 
the  driving  rain  her  face  in  the  lamp-light  was  pitifully 
white.  I  made  a  last  effort  and  caught  up  with  her  car. 

"A  safe  journey,  madame,"  I  stammered,  catching 
at  the  hand  she  held  out  and  brushing  the  shabby- 
gloved  fingers  with  my  lips. 

"I  shall  never  forgive  this  wanton  self-sacrifice," 
132 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

she  said,  unsteadily.  Then  the  car  rolled  silently  past 
me,  swifter,  swifter,  and  her  white  face  faded  from  my 
sight.  Yet  still  I  stood  there,  bareheaded,  in  the  rain, 
while  the  twin  red  lamps  on  the  rear  car  grew  smaller 
and  smaller,  until  they,  too.,  were  shut  out  in  the  closing 
curtains  of  the  fog. 

As  I  turned  away  into  d^  lighted  station  a  hospital 
train  from  the  north  glided  into  the  yard  and  stopped. 
Soldiers  immediately  started  carrying  out  the  wounded 
jand  placing  them  in  rows  on  mattresses  ranged  along 
the  walls  of  the  passenger  depot;  sisters  of  charity., 
hovering  over  the  mutilated  creatures,  were  already 
giving  first  aid  to  the  injured ;  policemen  kept  the  crowd 
from  trampling  the  dead  and  dying ;  gendarmes  began 
to  clear  the  platforms,  calling  out  sharply,  "No  more 
trains  to-night!  Move  on!  This  platform  is  for  gov- 
ernment officials  only!" 

Through  the  scrambling  mob  a  file  of  wounded  tot- 
tered, escorted  by  police;  women  were  forced  back  and 
pushed  out  into  the  street,  only  to  be  again  menaced  by 
galloping  military  ambulances  arriving,  accompanied 
by  hussars.  The  confusion  grew  into  a  tumult ;  men 
struggled  and  elbowed  for  a  passage  to  the  platforms, 
women  sobbed  and  cried ;  through  the  uproar  the  treble 
wail  of  terrified  children  broke  out. 

Jostled,  shoved,  pulled  this  way  and  that,  I  felt  that 
I  was  destined  to  go  down  under  the  people's  feet,  and 
I  don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me  had  not  a 
violent  push  sent  me  against  the  door  of  the  telegraph 
office.  The  door  gave  way,  and  I  fell  on  my  knees, 
staggered  to  my  feet,  and  crept  out  once  more  to  the 
platform. 

The  station-master  passed,  a  haggard  gentleman 
in  rumpled  uniform  and  gilt  cap;  and  as  he  left  the 
office  by  the  outer  door  the  heavy  explosion  of  a  ram- 
part cannon  shook  the  station. 

133 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Can  you  get  me  to  Paris?"  I  asked. 

"  Quick,  then/'  he  muttered ;  "  this  way — lean  on  me, 
monsieur!  I  am  trying  to  send  another  train  out — 
but  Heaven  alone  knows!  Quick,  this  way!" 

The  glare  of  a  locomotive's  headlight  dazzled  me; 
I  made  towards  it,  clinging  to  the  arm  of  the  station- 
master;  the  ground  under  my  feet  rocked  with  the 
shock  of  the  siege-guns.  Suddenly  a  shell  fell  and 
burst  in  the  yard  outside;  there  was  a  cry,  a  rush  of 
trainmen,  a  gendarme  shouting;  then  the  piercing 
alarm  notes  of  locomotives,  squealing  like  terrified 
leviathans. 

The  train  drawn  up  along  the  platform  gave  a  jerk 
and  immediately  movec1  out  towards  the  open  coun- 
try, compartment  door?  swinging  wide,  trainmen  and 
guards  running  alongside,  followed  by  a  mob  of  fren- 
zied passengers,  who  leaped  into  empty  compartments, 
flinging  satchels  and  rugs  to  the  four  winds.  Crash! 
A  shell  fell  through  the  sloping  roof  of  the  platform 
and  blew  up.  Through  the  white  cloud  and  brilliant 
glare  I  saw  a  porter,  wheeling  boxes  and  trunks,  fall, 
buried  under  an  avalanche  of  baggage,  and  a  sister  of 
charity  throw  up  her  arms  as  though  to  shield  her  face 
from  the  fragments. 

A  car,  doors  swinging  wide,  glided  past  me ;  I  caught 
the  rail  and  fell  forward  into  a  compartment.  The 
cushions  of  the  seats  were  afire,  and  a  policeman  was 
hammering  out  the  sparks  with  naked  fists. 

I  was  too  weak  to  aid  him.  Presently  he  hurled  the 
last  burning  cushion  from  the  open  door  and  leaped 
out  into  the  train -yard,  where  red  and  green  lamps 
glowed  and  the  brilliant  flare  of  bursting  shells  lighted 
the  fog.  By  this  time  the  train  was  moving  swiftly; 
the  car  windows  shook  with  the  thunder  from  the  ram- 
parts under  which  we  were  passing;  then  came  inky 
darkness — a  tunnel — then  a  rush  of  mist  and  wind 

134 


A   STRUGGLE    FORESHADOWED 

from  the  open  door  as  we  swept  out  into  the  coun- 

try. 

Passengers  clinging  to  the  platforms  now  made  their 
way  into  the  compartment  where  I  lay  almost  senseless, 
and  soon  the  little  place  was  crowded,  and  somebody 
slammed  the  door. 

Then  the  flying  locomotive,  far  ahead,  shrieked, 
and  the  train  leaped,  rushing  forward  into  the  unknown. 
Blackness,  stupefying  blackness,  outside;  inside,  un- 
seen, the  huddled  passengers,  breathing  heavily  with 
sudden  stifled  sobs,  or  the  choked,  indrawn  breath  of 
terror;  but  not  a  word,  not  a  quaver  of  human  voices; 
peril  strangled  speech  as  our  black  train  flew  onward 
through  the  night 


vm 

A   MAN   TO   LET 

THE  train  which  bore  me  out  of  the  arc  of  the 
Prussian  fire  at  Strasbourg  passed  in  between  the 
fortifications  of  Paris  the  next  morning  about  eleven 
o'clock.  Ten  minutes  later  I  was  in  a  closed  cab  on 
my  way  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Imperial  Military 
Police,  temporarily  housed  in  the  Luxembourg  Palace. 

The  day  was  magnificent;  sunshine  flooded  the 
boulevards,  and  a  few  chestnut  -  trees  in  the  squares 
had  already  begun  to  blossom  for  the  second  time  in 
the  season ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  prophecy  of  autumn 
in  sky  or  sunlight. 

The  city,  as  I  saw  it  from  the  open  window  of  my  cab, 
appeared  to  be  in  a  perfectly  normal  condition.  There 
were,  perhaps,  a  few  more  national-guard  soldiers  on 
the  streets,  a  few  more  brightly  colored  posters,  notices, 
and  placards  on  the  dead  walls,  but  the  life  of  the  city 
itself  had  not  changed  at  all;  the  usual  crowds  filled 
the  boulevards,  the  usual  street  cries  sounded,  the 
same  middle-aged  gentlemen  sat  in  front  of  the  cafes 
reading  the  same  daily  papers,  the  same  waiters  served 
them  the  same  drinks;  rows  of  cabs  were  drawn  up 
where  cabs  are  always  to  be  found,  and  the  same  police- 
men dawdled  in  gossip  with  the  same  flower-girls. 
I  caught  the  scent  of  early  winter  violets  in  the  fresh 
Parisian  breeze. 

Was  this  the  city  that  Buckhurst  looked  upon  as 
already  doomed? 

136 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

On  the  marble  bridge  gardeners  were  closing  up  the 
morning  flower-market;  blue-bloused  men  with  jointed 
hose  sprinkled  the  asphalt  in  front  of  the  Palais  de  Jus- 
tice; students  strolled  under  the  trees  from  the  School 
of  Medicine  to  the  Sorbonne ;  the  Luxembourg  fountain 
tossed  its  sparkling  sheets  of  spray  among  the  lotus. 

All  this  I  saw,  yet  a  sinister  foreboding  oppressed 
me,  and  I  could  not  shake  it  off  even  in  this  bright 
city  where  September  was  promising  only  a  new  lease 
of  summer  and  the  white  spikes  of  chestnut  blossoms 
hummed  with  eager  bees. 

Physically  I  felt  well  enough;  the  cramped  sleep  in 
the  dark  compartment,  far  from  exhausting  me,  had 
not  only  rested  me,  but  had  also  brought  me  an  appetite 
which  I  meant  to  satisfy  as  soon  as  might  be.  As  for 
my  back,  it  was  simply  uncomfortable,  but  all  effects 
of  the  shock  had  disappeared — unless  this  heavy  mental 
depression  was  due  to  it. 

My  cab  was  now  entering  the  Palace  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg by  the  great  arch  facing  the  Rue  de  Tournon; 
the  line  sentinels  halted  us;  I  left  the  cab,  crossed  the 
parade  in  front  of  the  guard-house,  turned  to  the  right, 
and  climbed  the  stairs  straight  to  my  own  quarters, 
which  were  in  the  west  wing  of  the  palace,  and  consisted 
of  a  bedroom,  a  working  cabinet,  and  a  dressing-room. 

But  I  did  not  enter  my  door  or  even  glance  at  it;  I 
continued  straight  on,  down  the  corridor  to  a  door, 
on  the  ground-glass  panes  of  which  was  printed  in 
red  lettering : 


HEADQUARTERS 

IMPERIAL  MILITARY  POLICE 

SAFE  DEPOSIT 

137 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

The  sentinel  interrogated  me  for  form's  sake,  although 
he  knew  me;  I  entered,  passed  rapidly  along  the  face 
of  the  steel  cage  behind  which  some  officers  sat  on  high 
stools,  writing,  and  presented  myself  at  the  guichet 
marked,  "Foreign  Division." 

There  was  no  military  clerk  in  attendance  there,  and, 
to  my  surprise,  the  guichet  was  closed. 

However,  a  very  elegant  officer  strolled  up  to  the 
guichet  as  I  laid  my  bag  of  diamonds  on  the  glass  shelf, 
languidly  unlocked  the  steel  window-gate,  and  picked 
up  the  bag  of  jewels. 

The  officer  was  Mornac,  the  Emperor's  alter  ego,  or 
ame  damn^e,  who  had  taken  over  the  entire  department 
the  very  day  I  left  Paris  for  the  frontier.  Officially,  I 
could  not  recognize  him  until  I  presented  myself  to 
Colonel  Jarras  with  my  report ;  so  I  saluted  his  uniform, 
standing  at  attention  in  my  filthy  clothes,  awaiting 
the  usual  question  and  receipt. 

"Name  and  number?"  inquired  Mornac,  indolently. 

I  gave  both. 

"You  desire  to  declare?" 

I  enumerated  the  diamonds,  and  designated  them  as 
those  lately  stolen  from  the  crucifix  of  Louis  XI. 

Mornac  handed  me  a  printed  certificate  of  deposit, 
opened  a  compartment  in  the  safe,  and  tossed  in  the 
bag  without  sealing  it.  And,  as  I  stood  waiting,  he 
lighted  a  scented  cigarette,  glanced  over  at  me,  puffed 
once  or  twice,  and  finally  dismissed  me  with  a  dis- 
courteous nod. 

I  went,  because  he  was  Mornac;  I  thought  that  I 
was  entitled  to  a  bureau  receipt,  but  could  scarcely 
demand  one  from  the  chief  of  the  entire  department 
who  had  taken  over  the  bureau  solely  in  order  to  reform 
it,  root  and  branch.  Doubtless  his  curt  dismissal  of 
me  without  the  customary  receipt  and  his  failure  to 
seal  the  bag  were  two  of  his  reforms. 

138 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

I  limped  off  past  the  glittering  steel  cage,  thankful 
that  the  jewels  were  safe,  turned  into  the  corridor,  and 
hastened  back  to  my  own  rooms. 

To  tear  off  my  rags,  bathe,  shave,  and  dress  in  a  light 
suit  of  civilian  clothes  took  me  longer  than  usual,  for 
I  was  a  trifle  lame. 

Bath  and  clean  clothes  ought  to  have  cheered  me; 
but  the  contrary  was  the  case,  and  I  »at  down  to  a 
breakfast  brought  by  a  palace  servant,  and  ate  it 
gloomily,  thinking  of  Buckhurst,  and  the  Countess, 
and  of  Morsbronn,  and  of  the  muddy  dead  lying  under 
ihe  rifle  smoke  below  my  turret  window. 

I  thought,  too,  of  that  astonishing  conspiracy  which 
had  formed  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  imperial 
throne,  and  through  which  already  the  crucifix  and 
diamonds  of  Louis  XL  had  been  so  nearly  lost  to  France. 

Who  besides  Buckhurst  was  involved  ?  How  far  had 
Colonel  Jarras  gone  in  the  investigation  during  my 
absence?  How  close  to  the  imperial  throne  had  the 
conspiracy  burrowed? 

Pondering,  I  slowly  retraced  my  steps  through  the 
bedroom  and  dressing-room,  and  out  into  the  tiled  hall- 
way, where,  at  the  end  of  the  dim  corridor,  the  door 
of  Colonel  Jarras 's  bureau  stood  partly  open. 

Jarras  was  sitting  at  his  desk  as  I  entered,  and  he 
gave  me  a  leaden-eyed  stare  as  I  closed  the  door  behind 
me  and  stood  at  attention. 

For  a  moment  he  said  nothing,  but  presently  he  partly 
turned  his  ponderous  body  towards  me  and  motioned 
me  to  a  chair. 

As  I  sat  down  I  glanced  around  and  saw  my  old 
comrade,  Speed,  sitting  in  a  dark  corner,  chewing  a 
cigarette  and  watching  me  in  alert  silence. 

"You  are  present  to  report?"  suggested  Colonel 
Jarras,  heavily. 

I  bowed,  glancing  across  at  Speed,  who  shrugged 

139 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

his  shoulders  and  looked  at  the  floor  with  an  ominous 
smile. 

Mystified,  I  began  my  report,  but  was  immediately 
stopped  by  Jarras  with  a  peevish  gesture :  "  All  right, 
all  right;  keep  all  that  for  the  Chief  of  Department. 
Your  report  doesn't  concern  me." 

"Doesn't  concern  you!"  I  repeated;  "are  you  not 
chief  of  this  bureau,  Colonel  Jarras?" 

"No,"  snapped  Jarras;  "and  there's  no  bureau 
now — at  least  no  bureau  for  the  Foreign  Division  " 

Speed  leaned  forward  and  said :  "  Scarlett,  my  friend, 
the  Foreign  Division  of  the  Imperial  Military  Police 
is  not  in  favor  just  now.  It  appears  the  Foreign  Divi- 
sion is  suspected." 

"Suspected?    Of  what?" 

"Treason,  I  suppose,"  said  Speed,  serenely. 

I  felt  my  face  begin  to  burn,  but  the  astonishing 
news  left  me  speechless. 

"  I  said,"  observed  Speed,  "  that  the  Foreign  Division 
is  suspected ;  that  is  not  exactly  the  case ;  it  is  not  sus- 
pected, simply  because  it  has  been  abolished." 

"Who  the  devil  did  that?"  I  asked,  savagely. 

"Mornac." 

Mornac!  The  Emperor's  shadow!  Then  truly 
enough  it  was  all  up  with  the  Foreign  Division.  But 
the  shame  of  it! — the  disgrace  of  as  faithful  a  body 
of  police,  mercenaries  though  they  were,  as  ever  worked 
for  any  cause,  good  or  bad. 

"  So  it's  the  old  whine  of  treason  again,  is  it?"  I  said, 
while  the  blood  beat  in  my  temples.  "Oh,  very  well, 
doubtless  Monsieur  Mornac  knows  his  business.  Are 
we  transferred,  Speed,  or  just  kicked  out  into  the 
street?" 

"Kicked  out,"  replied  Speed,  rubbing  his  slim,  bony 
hands  together. 

"And  you,  sir?"  I  asked,  turning  to  Jarras,  who  sat 
140 


A   MAN   TO    LET 

with  his  fat,  round  head  buried  in  his  shoulders,  staring 
at  the  discolored  blotter  on  his  desk. 

The  old  Corsican  straightened  as  though  stung: 
"Since  when,  monsieur,  have  subordinates  assumed 
the  right  to  question  their  superiors?" 

I  asked  his  pardon  in  a  low  voice,  although  I  was 
no  longer  his  subordinate.  He  had  been  a  good  and 
loyal  chief  to  us  all ;  the  least  I  could  do  now  was  to 
show  him  respect  in  his  bitter  humiliation. 

I  think  he  felt  our  attitude  and  that  it  comforted  him, 
but  all  he  said  was :  "  It  is  a  heavy  blow.  The  Em- 
peror knows  best." 

As  we  sat  there  in  silence,  a  soldier  came  to  summon 
Colonel  Jarras,  and  he  went  away,  leaning  on  his  ivory- 
headed  cane,  head  bowed  over  the  string  of  medals  on 
his  breast. 

When  he  had  gone,  Speed  came  over  and  shut  the 
door,  then  shook  hands  with  me. 

"  He's  gone  to  see  Mornac ;  it  will  be  our  turn  next. 
Look  out  for  Mornac,  or  he'll  catch  you  tripping  in  your 
report.  Did  you  find  Buckhurst?" 

"Look  here,"  I  said,  angrily,  "how  can  Mornac 
catch  me  tripping?  I'm  not  under  his  orders." 

"  You  are  until  you're  discharged.  You  see,  they've 
taken  it  into  their  heads,  since  the  crucifix  robbery,  to 
suspect  everybody  and  anybody  short  of  the  Emperor. 
Mornac  came  smelling  around  here  the  day  you  left. 
He's  at  the  bottom  of  all  this — a  nice  business  to  cast 
suspicion  on  our  division  because  we're  foreigners. 
Gad,  he  looks  like  a  pickpocket  himself — he's  got  the 
oblique  trick  of  the  eyes  and  the  restless  finger  move- 
ment." 

"Perhaps  he  is,"  I  said. 

Speed  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"If  I  were  in  the  service  now  I'd  arrest  Mornac — 
if  I  dared." 

141 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"You  might  as  well  arrest  the  Emperor/'  I  said, 
wearily. 

"That's  it,"  observed  Speed,  throwing  away  his 
chewed  cigarette.  "Nobody  dare  touch  Mornac;  no- 
body dare  even  watch  him.  But  if  there's  a  leak  some- 
where, it's  far  more  probable  that  Mornac  did  the  dirty 
work  than  that  there's  a  traitor  in  our  division." 

Presently  he  added:  "Did  you  catch  Buckhurst?" 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,"  I  said,  disgusted. 

" — Because,"  continued  Speed,  "if  you've  got  him, 
it  may  save  us.  Have  you?" 

How  I  wished  that  I  had  Buckhurst  safely  hand- 
cuffed beside  me! 

"If  you've  got  him/'  persisted  Speed,  "we'll  shake 
him  like  a  rat  until  he  squeals.  And  if  he  names 
Mornac — " 

"Do  you  think  that  Mornac  would  give  him  or  us 
the  chance?"  I  said.  "Rubbish!  He'd  do  the  shak- 
ing in  camera;  and  it  would  only  be  a  hand-shaking 
if  Buckhurst  is  really  his  creature.  And  he's  rid  him- 
self of  our  division,  anyhow.  Wait !"  I  added,  sharply ; 
"  perhaps  that  is  the  excuse  1  Perhaps  that  is  the  very 
reason  that  he's  abolished  the  foreign  division!  We 
may  have  been  getting  too  close  to  the  root  of  this 
matter;  I  had  already  caught  Buckhurst — " 

"You  had?"  cried  Speed,  eagerly. 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  it  now,"  I  added, 
sullenly.  "My  troubles  are  coming;  I've  a  story  to 
tell  that  won't  please  Mornac,  and  I  have  an  idea  that 
he  means  mischief  to  me." 

Speed  looked  curiously  at  me,  and  I  went  on: 

"I  used  my  own  judgment — supposing  that  Jarras 
was  my  chief.  I  knew  he'd  let  me  take  my  own  way — 
but  I  don't  know  what  Mornac  will  say." 

However,  I  was  soon  to  know  what  Mornac  had  to 
say,  for  a  soldier  appeared  to  summon  us  both,  and  we 

142 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

followed  to  the  temporary  bureau  which  looked  out  to 
the  east  over  the  lovely  Luxembourg  gardens. 

Jarras  passed  us  as  we  entered ;  his  heavy  head  was 
bent,  and  I  do  not  suppose  that  he  saw  either  us  or  our 
salutes,  for  he  shuffled  off  down  the  dark  passage, 
tapping  his  slow  way  like  a  blind  man ;  and  Speed  and 
I  entered,  saluting  Mornac. 

The  personage  whom  we  saluted  was  a  symmetrical, 
highly  colored  gentleman,  with  black  mustache  and 
Oriental  eyes.  His  skin  was  too  smooth — there  was 
not  a  line  or  a  wrinkle  visible  on  hand  or  face,  nothing 
but  plump  flesh  pressing  the  golden  collar  of  his  light- 
blue  tunic  and  the  half-dozen  gold  rings  on  his  care- 
fully kept,  restless  fingers.  His  light,  curved  sabre 
hung  by  its  silver  chain  from  a  nail  on  a  wall  behind 
him;  beside  it,  suspended  by  the  neck  cord,  was  his 
astrakhan  -  trimmed  dolman  of  palest  turquoise  -  blue, 
and  over  that  hung  his  scarlet  cap. 

As  he  raised  his  heavy-lidded,  insolent  eyes  to  me,  I 
thought  I  had  never  before  appreciated  the  utter  false- 
ness of  his  visage  as  I  did  at  that  moment.  Instantly 
I  decided  that  he  meant  evil  to  me ;  and  I  instinctively 
glanced  at  Speed,  standing  beside  me  at  attention,  his 
clear  blue  eyes  alert,  his  lank  limbs  and  lean  head 
fairly  tremulous  with  comprehension. 

At  a  careless  nod  from  Mornac  I  muttered  the  formal 
"  I  have  to  report,  sir — "  and  began  mumbling  a  per- 
functory account  of  my  movements  since  leaving  Paris. 
He  listened,  idly  contemplating  a  silver  penknife  which 
he  alternately  snapped  open  and  closed,  the  click  of 
the  spring  punctuating  my  remarks. 

I  told  the  truth  as  far  as  I  went,  which  brought  me  to 
my  capture  by  Uhlans  and  the  natural  escape  of  my 
prisoner,  Buckhurst.  I  merely  added  that  I  had  se- 
cured the  diamonds  and  had  managed  to  reach  Paris 
via  Strasbourg. 

143 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Is  that  all?"  inquired  Momac,  listlessly. 

"All  I  have  to  report,  sir." 

"Permit  me  to  be  the  judge  of  how  much  you  have 
to  report/'  said  Momac.  "Continue." 

I  was  silent. 

"  Do  3^ou  prefer  that  I  draw  out  information  by  ques- 
tions?" asked  Mornac,  looking  up  at  me. 

I  was  already  in  his  net;  I  ought  not  to  have  placed 
myself  in  the  position  of  concealing  anything,  yet  I 
distrusted  him  and  wished  to  avoid  giving  him  a  chance 
to  misunderstand  me.  But  now  it  was  too  late ;  if  the 
error  could  be  wiped  out  at  all,  the  only  way  to  erase 
it  was  by  telling  him  everything  and  giving  him  his 
chance  to  misinterpret  me  if  he  desired  it. 

He  listened  very  quietly  while  I  told  of  my  encoun- 
ter with  Buckhurst  in  Morsbronn,  of  our  journey  to 
Saverne,  to  Strasbourg,  and  finally  my  own  arrival  In 
Paris. 

"Where  is  Buckhurst?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  replied,  doggedly. 

"That  is  to  say  that  you  had  him  in  your  power 
within  the  French  lines  yet  did  not  secure  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Your  orders  were  to  arrest  him?" 

"Yes." 

"And  shoot  him  if  he  resisted?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  let  him  go?" 

"There  was  something  more  important  to  do  than 
to  arrest  Buckhurst.  I  meant  to  find  out  what  he  had 
on  hand  in  Paradise." 

"So  you  disobeyed  orders?" 

"If  you  care  to  so  interpret  my  action." 

"Why  did  you  not  arrest  the  Countess  de  Vassart?" 

"I  did;  the  Uhlans  made  me  prisoner  as  I  reported 
to  you." 

144 


A    MAN    TO    LET 

"  I  mean,  why  did  you  not  arrest  her  after  you  left 
Morsbronn?" 

"  That  would  have  prevented  Buckhurst  from  going 
to  Paradise." 

"Your  orders  were  to  arrest  the  Countess?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  obey  those  orders?" 

"No,"  I  said,  between  my  teeth. 

"Why?" 

"I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  an  important 
conspiracy  was  being  ripened  somewhere  near  Para- 
dise. I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  robbery 
of  the  crown  jewels  might  furnish  funds  for  the  plot- 
ters. 

"  The  arrest  of  one  man  could  not  break  up  the  con- 
spiracy; I  desired  to  trap  the  leaders;  and  to  that  end 
I  deliberately  liberated  this  man  Buckhurst  as  a  stool- 
pigeon.  If  my  judgment  has  been  at  fault,  I  accept  the 
blame." 

Mornac 's  silver  penknife  closed.  Presently  he  open- 
ed the  blade  again  and  tested  the  edge  on  his  plump 
forefinger. 

"I  beg  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact,"  I  continued, 
"  that  a  word  from  Buckhurst  to  the  provost  at  Mors- 
bronn would  have  sent  me  before  the  squad  of  execu- 
tion. In  a  way,  I  bought  my  freedom.  But,"  I  added, 
slowly,  "  I  should  never  have  bought  it  if  the  bargain 
by  which  I  saved  my  own  skin  had  been  a  betrayal 
of  France.  Nobody  wants  to  die ;  but  in  my  profession 
we  discount  that.  No  man  in  my  division  is  a  physical 
coward.  I  purchased  my  freedom  not  only  without 
detriment  to  France,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  advan- 
tage of  France." 

"At  the  expense  of  your  honor,"  observed  Mornac. 

My  ears  were  burning ;  I  advanced  a  pace  and  looked 
Mornac  straight  between  the  eyes;  but  his  eyes  did 

145 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

not  meet  mine  —  they  were  fixed  on  his  silver  peiv 
knife. 

"  I  did  the  best  I  could  do  in  the  line  of  duty/'  I  said 
"  You  ask  me  why  I  did  not  break  my  word  and  ar- 
rest Buckhurst  after  we  left  the  German  lines.  And 
I  answer  you  that  I  had  given  my  word  not  to  ar- 
rest him,  in  pursuance  of  my  plan  to  use  him  fur 
ther." 

Mornac  examined  his  carefully  kept  finger-tips  in 
detail. 

"You  say  he  bribed  you?" 

"  I  said  that  he  attempted  to  do  so,"  I  replied,  sharply. 

"With  the  diamonds?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  them?" 

"I  deposited  them  as  usual." 

"Bring  them." 

Angry  as  I  was,  I  saluted,  wheeled,  and  hastened  off 
to  the  safe  deposit.  The  jewel-bag  was  delivered  when 
I  presented  my  printed  slip ;  I  picked  it  up  and  marched 
back,  savagely  biting  my  mustache  and  striving  to 
control  my  increasing  exasperation.  Never  before  had 
I  endured  insolence  from  a  superior  officer. 

Mornac  was  questioning  Speed  as  I  entered,  and  that 
young  man,  who  has  much  self-control  to  learn,  was 
already  beginning  to  answer  with  disrespectful  im- 
patience, but  my  advent  suspended  matters,  and  Mornac 
took  the  bag  of  jewels  from  my  hands  and  examined  it. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  empty  it;  he  lolled  in 
his  chair  with  an  absent-minded  expression  like  the 
expression  of  a  cat  who  pretends  to  forget  the  mouse 
between  her  paws.  Danger  was  written  all  over  him; 
I  squared  my  shoulders  and  studied  him,  braced  for  a 
shock. 

The  shock  came  almost  immediately,  for,  without  a 
word,  he  suddenly  emptied  the  jewel-bag  on  the  desk 

146 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

oefore  him.  The  bag  contained  little  pebbles  wrapped 
in  tissue-paper. 

I  heard  Speed  catch  his  breath  sharply;  I  stared 
stupidly  at  the  pebbles.  Mornac  made  a  careless,  sweep- 
ing gesture,  spreading  the  pebbles  out  before  us  with 
his  restless,  ringed  fingers. 

"Suppose  you  explain  this  farce?",  he  suggested, 
unmoved. 

"Suppose  you  explain  it!"  I  stammered. 

He  raised  his  delicately  arched  eyebrows.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  an  hour  ago  that  bag  contained  the 
diamonds  from  the  crucifix  of  Louis  XI. !  I  mean  that 
I  handed  them  over  to  you  on  my  arrival  at  this  bureau !" 

"  Doubtless  you  can  prove  what  you  say,"  he  ob- 
served, and  his  silver  penknife  snapped  shut  like  the 
click  of  a  trap,  and  he  lay  back  in  his  padded  chair 
and  slipped  the  knife  into  his  pocket. 

I  looked  at  Speed ;  his  sandy  hair  fairly  bristled,  but 
his  face  was  drawn  and  tense.  I  looked  at  Mornac; 
his  heavy,  black  eyes  met  mine  steadily. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  it  was  high  time 
we  abolished  the  Foreign  Division,  Imperial  Military 
Police." 

"I  refuse  to  be  discharged!"  I  said,  hoarsely.  "It 
is  your  word  against  mine;  I  demand  an  investiga- 
tion!" 

"  Certainly/'  he  replied,  almost  wearily,  and  touched 
a  bell.  "Bring  that  witness,"  he  added  to  the  soldier 
who  appeared  in  answer  to  the  silvery  summons. 

"I  mean  an  official  inquiry,"  I  said — "a  court-mar- 
tial. It  is  my  right  where  my  honor  is  questioned." 

"  It  is  my  right,  when  you  question  my  honor,  to 
throw  you  into  Mont  Vale'rien,  neck  and  heels,"  he 
said,  showing  his  teeth  under  his  silky,  black  mustache. 

Almost  stunned  by  his  change  of  tone,  I  stood  like 
147 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

a  stone.  Somebody  entered  the  room  behind  me, 
passed  me;  there  was  an  odor  of  violets  in  the  air,  a 
faint  rustle  of  silk,  and  I  saw  Mornac  rise  and  bow 
to  his  guest  and  conduct  her  to  a  chair. 

His  guest  was  the  young  Countess  de  Vassart. 

She  looked  up  at  me  brightly,  gave  me  a  pretty  nod 
of  recognition,  then  turned  expectantly  to  Mornac,  who 
was  still  standing  at  her  elbow,  saying,  "  Then  it  is  no 
longer  a  question  of  my  exile,  monsieur?" 

"No,  madame;  there  has  been  a  mistake.  The 
government  has  no  reason  to  suspect  your  loyalty." 
He  turned  directly  on  me.  "  Madame,  do  you  know 
this  officer?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Countess,  smiling. 

"  Did  you  see  him  receive  a  small  sack  of  diamonds 
in  Morsbronn?" 

The  Countess  gave  me  a  quick  glance  of  surprise. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  wonderingly. 

"  Thank  you,  madame;  that  is  sufficient,"  he  replied; 
and  before  I  could  understand  what  he  was  about  he 
had  conducted  the  Countess  to  the  next  room  and  had 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

" Quick  1"  muttered  Speed  at  my  elbow;  "let's  back 
out  of  this  trap.  There's  no  use;  he's  one  of  them, 
and  he  means  to  ruin  you." 

"I  won't  go!"  I  said,  in  a  cold  fury;  "I'll  choke  the 
truth  out  of  him,  I  tell  you." 

"Man!  Man!  He's  the  Emperor's  shadow!  You're 
done  for ;  come  on  while  there's  time.  I  tell  you  there's 
no  hope  for  you  here." 

"  Hope !  What  do  I  care?"  I  said,  harshly.  "  Why, 
Speed,  that  man  is  a  common  thief." 

"What  of  it?"  whispered  Speed.  "Doesn't  every- 
body know  that  the  conspiracy  runs  close  to  the 
throne?  What  do  you  care?  Come  on,  I  tell  you; 
I've  had  enough  of  this  rotten  government.  So  have 

148 


A    MAN    TO    LET 

you.  And  we've  both  seen  enough  to  ruin  us.  Come 
on!" 

"  But  he's  got  those  diamonds !  Do  you  think  I  can 
stand  that?" 

"I  think  you've  got  to,"  muttered  Speed,  savagely. 
"Do  you  want  to  rot  in  Cayenne?  If  you  do,  stay 
here  and  bawl  for  a  court-martial!" 

"But  the  government — " 

"Let  the  government  go  to  the  devil!  It's  going 
fast  enough,  anyhow.  Come,  don't  let  Mornac  find 
us  here  when  he  returns.  He  may  be  coming  now — 
quick,  Scarlett!  We've  got  to  cut  for  it!" 

"Speed,"  I  said,  unsteadily,  "it's  enough  to  make 
an  honest  man  strike  hands  with  Buckhurst  in  earnest. " 

Speed  took  my  arm  with  a  cautious  glance  at  the 
door  of  the  next  room,  and  urged  me  toward  the  corri- 
dor. 

"  The  government  has  kicked  us  out  into  the  street," 
he  muttered;  "be  satisfied  that  the  government  didn't 
kick  us  into  Biribi.  And  it  will  yet  if  you  don't  come." 

"Come?  Where?  I  haven't  any  money,  and  now 
they've  got  my  honor — " 

"Rubbish!"  he  whispered,  fairly  dragging  me  into 
the  hallway.  "Here!  No — don't  go  to  your  rooms. 
Leave  everything — get  clear  of  this  rat-pit,  I  tell  you. " 

He  half  pushed,  half  dragged  me  to  the  parade;  then, 
dropping  my  arm,  he  struck  a  jaunty  pace  through  the 
archway,  not  even  glancing  at  the  sentinels.  I  kept 
pace  with  him,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  did. 

In  the  Rue  de  Seine  I  halted  suddenly,  crying  out 
that  I  must  go  back,  but  he  seized  me  with  a  growl  of 
"Idiot!  come  on!"  and  fairly  shoved  me  through  the 
colonnades  of  the  Institute,  along  the  quay,  down  the 
river-wall,  to  a  dock  where  presently  a  swift  river-boat 
swung  in  for  passengers.  And  when  the  bateau  mouche 
shot  out  again  into  mid-stream,  Speed  and  I  stood 

149 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

silently  on  deck,  watching  the  silver  -  gray  facades  of 
Paris  fly  past  above  us  under  the  blue  sky. 

We  sat  far  forward,  quite  alone,  and  separated  from 
the  few  passengers  by  the  pilot-house  and  jointed  fun- 
nel. And  there,  carelessly  lounging,  with  one  of  his 
lank  legs  crossed  over  the  other  and  a  cigar  between 
his  teeth,  my  comrade  coolly  recounted  to  me  the  infa- 
mous history  of  the  past  week: 

"  Jarras  put  his  honest,  old,  square-toed  foot  in  it  by 
accident;  I  don't  know  how  he  managed  to  do  it,  but 
this  is  certain:  he  suddenly  found  himself  on  a  per- 
fectly plain  trail  which  could  only  end  at  Mornac's 
threshold. 

"  Then  he  did  a  stupid  thing — he  called  Mornac  in 
and  asked' him,  in  perfect  faith,  to  clear  up  the  affair, 
never  for  a  moment  suspecting  that  Mornac  was  the 
man. 

"  That  occurred  the  day  you  started  to  catch  Buck- 
hurst.  And  on  that  day,  too,  I  had  found  out  some- 
thing; and  like  a  fool  I  told  Jarras." 

Speed  chewed  his  cigar  and  laughed. 

"In  twenty-four  hours  Jarras  was  relieved  of  his 
command;  I  was  requested  not  to  leave  the  Luxem- 
bourg— in  other  words,  I  was  under  arrest,  and  Mornac 
took  over  the  entire  department  and  abolished  the 
Foreign  Division  'for  the  good  of  the  service/  as 
the  Official  had  it  next  day. 

"Then  somebody  —  Mornac  probably  —  let  loose  a 
swarm  of  those  shadowy  lies  called  rumors — you  know 
how  that  is  done ! — and  people  began  to  mutter,  and  the 
cafe's  began  to  talk  of  treason  among  the  foreign  police. 
Of  course  Rochefort  took  it  up;  of  course  the  Official 
printed  a  half-hearted  denial  which  was  far  worse  than 
an  avowal.  Then  the  division  was  abolished,  and  the 
illustrated  papers  made  filthy  caricatures  of  us,  and 
drew  pictures  of  Mornac,  sabre  in  hand,  decapitating 

350 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

a  nest  fwH  of  American  rattlesnakes  and  British 
cobras,  and  Rochefort  printed  a  terrible  elaboration 
of  the  fable  of  the  farmer  and  the  frozen  serpent." 

"Oh,  that's  enough,"  I  said,  sick  with  rage  and 
disgust.  "Let  them  look  out  for  their  own  country 
now.  I  pity  the  Empress;  I  pity  the  Emperor.  I  don't 
know  what  Mornac  means  to  do,  but  I  know  that  the 
Internationale  boa-constrictor  is  big  enough  to  swallow 
government,  dynasty,  and  Empire,  and  it  is  going  to 
try/' 

"I  am  certain  of  one  thing,"  said  Speed,  staring  out 
over  the  sunlit  water  with  narrowing  eyes.  "I  know 
that  Mornac  is  using  Buckhurst." 

"Perhaps  it  is  Buckhurst  who  is  using  Mornac," 
I  suggested. 

"I  think  both  those  gentlemen  have  the  same  view 
in  end — to  feather  their  respective  nests  under  cover 
of  a  general  smash,"  said  Speed.  "It  would  not  do 
for  Mornac  to  desert  the  Empire  under  any  circum- 
stances. But  he  can  employ  Buckhurst  to  squeeze 
it  dry  and  then  strike  an  attitude  as  its  faithful  de- 
fender in  adversity." 

"  But  why  does  Buckhurst  desire  to  go  to  Paradise?" 
I  asked. 

The  boat  swung  into  a  dock  near  the  Point  du  Jour ; 
a  few  passengers  left,  a  few  came  aboard;  the  boat 
darted  on  again  under  the  high  viaduct  of  masonry, 
past  bastions  on  which  long  siege  cannon  glistened  in 
the  sunshine,  past  lines  of  fresh  earthworks,  past  grassy 
embankments  on  which  soldiers  moved  to  the  rumble 
of  drums. 

"I  know  something  about  Paradise,"  said  Speed, 
in  a  low  voice. 

I  waited;  Speed  chewed  his  cigar  grimly. 

"  Look  here,  Scarlett,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  know  what 
has  become  of  the  crown  jewels  of  France?" 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"No/'  I  said. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  You  know,  of  course,  that  the 
government  is  anxious;  you  know  that  Paris  is  prepar- 
ing to  stand  siege  if  the  Prussians  double  up  Bazaine 
and  the  array  of  Chalons  in  the  north.  But  you  don't 
know  what  a  pitiable  fright  the  authorities  are  in.  Why, 
Scarlett,  they  are  scared  almost  to  the  verge  of  idiocy." 

"They've  passed  that  verge,"  I  observed. 

"Yes,  they  have.  They  have  had  a  terrible  panic 
over  the  safety  of  the  crown  jewels — they  were  nervous 
enough  before  the  robbery.  And  this  is  what  they've 
done  in  secret: 

"The  crown  jewels,  the  bars  of  gold  of  the  reserve, 
the  great  pictures  from  the  Louvre,  the  antiques  of 
value,  including  the  Venus  of  Milo,  have  been  packed 
in  cases  and  loaded  on  trains  under  heavy  guard. 

"Twelve  of  these  trains  have  already  left  Paris  for 
the  war-port  of  Lorient.  The  others  are  to  follow,  one 
every  twenty-four  hours  at  midnight. 

"Whether  these  treasures  are  to  be  locked  up  in 
Lorient,  or  whether  they  are  to  be  buried  in  the  sand- 
dunes  along  the  coast,  I  don't  know.  But  I  know  this : 
a  swift  cruiser — the  Fer-de-Lance — is  lying  off  Para- 
dise, between  the  light -house  and  the  lie  de  Groix, 
with  steam  up  night  and  day,  ready  to  receive  the 
treasures  of  the  government  at  the  first  alarm  and 
run  for  the  French  possessions  in  Cochin-China. 

"  And  now,  perhaps,  you  may  guess  why  Buckhurst 
is  so  anxious  to  hang  around  Paradise." 

Of  course  I  was  startled.  Speed's  muttered  informa- 
tion gave  me  the  keys  to  many  doors.  And  behind 
each  door  were  millions  and  millions  and  millions  of 
francs'  worth  of  plunder. 

Our  eyes  met  in  mute  interrogation;  Speed  smiled. 

"Of  course,"  said  I,  with  dry  lips,  "Buckhurst  is 
devil  enough  to  attempt  anything." 

152 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

"Especially  if  backed  by  Mornac,"  said  Speed. 

Suddenly  the  professional  aspect  of  the  case  burst 
on  me  like  a  shower  of  glorious  sunshine. 

"Oh,  for  the  chance!"  I  said,  brokenly.  "Speed I 
Think  of  it !  Think  how  completely  we  have  the  thing 
in  hand!" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug,  "only  we  have  just 
been  kicked  out  of  the  service  in  disgrace,  and  we  are 
now  going  to  be  fully  occupied  in  running  away  from 
the  police." 

That  was  true  enough;  I  had  scarcely  had  time  to 
realize  our  position  as  escaped  suspects  of  the  depart- 
ment. And  with  the  recognition  of  my  plight  came  a 
rush  of  hopeless  rage,  of  bitter  regret,  and  soul-sicken- 
ing disappointment. 

So  this  was  the  end  of  my  career — a  fugitive,  dis- 
graced, probably  already  hunted.  This  was  my  re- 
ward for  faithful  service — penniless,  almost  friendless, 
liable  to  arrest  and  imprisonment  with  no  hope  of  jus- 
tice from  Emperor  or  court-martial — a  banned,  ruined, 
proscribed  outcast,  in  blind  flight. 

"I've  thought  of  the  possibility  of  this,"  observed 
Speed,  quietly.  "  We've  got  to  make  a  living  somehow. 
In  fact,  I'm  to  let — and  so  are  you." 

I  looked  at  him,  too  miserable  to  speak. 

"I  had  an  inkling  of  it,"  he  said.  A  shrewd  twinkle 
came  into  his  clear,  Yankee  eyes ;  he  chewed  his  wreck- 
ed cigar  and  folded  his  lank  arms. 

"So,"  he  continued,  tranquilly,  blinking  at  the 
sparkling  river,  "I  drew  out  all  my  money  —  and 
yours,  too." 

"Mine!"  I  stammered.     "How  could  you?" 

"Forged  an  order,"  he  admitted.  "Can  you  forgive 
me,  Scarlett?" 

"Forgive  you!  Bless  your  generous  heart!"  I  mut- 
tered, as  he  handed  me  a  sealed  packet. 

153 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Not  at  all/'  he  said,  laughing;  "a  crime  in  time 
saves  nine — eh,  Scarlett?  Pocket  it;  it's  all  there. 
Now  listen.  I  have  made  arrangements  of  another 
kind.  Do  you  remember  an  application  for  license 
from  the  manager  of  a  travelling  American  show — 
a  Yankee  circus?" 

"Byram's  Imperial  American  Circus?"  I  said. 

"That's  it.  They  went  through  Normandy  last 
summer.  Well,  Byram's  agent  is  going  to  meet  us 
at  Saint-Cloud.  We're  engaged;  I'm  to  do  ballooning 
— you  know  I  worked  one  of  the  military  balloons 
before  Petersburg.  You  are  to  do  sensational  riding. 
You  were  riding-master  in  the  Spahis — were  you 
not?" 

I  looked  at  him,  almost  laughing.  Suddenly  the 
instinct  of  my  vagabond  days  returned  like  a  sweet 
wind  from  the  wilds,  smiting  me  full  in  the  face. 

"I  tamed  three  lions  for  my  regiment  at  Constan- 
tine,"  I  said. 

"  Good  lad !  Then  you  can  play  with  Byram's  lions, 
too.  Oh,  what  the  devil!"  he  cried,  recklessly;  "it's 
all  in  a  lifetime.  Quand  meme,  and  who  cares?  We've 
life  before  us  and  an  honest  living  in  view,  and  Byram 
has  packed  two  of  his  men  back  to  England  and  I've 
tinkered  up  their  passports  to  suit  us.  So  we're  rea- 
sonably secure." 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  Speed,  why  you  were  wise  enough 
to  do  all  this  while  I  was  gone?"  I  asked,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Because,"  said  Speed,  deliberately,  "I  distrusted 
Mornac  from  the  hour  he  entered  the  department." 

A  splendid  officer  of  police  was  spoiled  when  Mornac 
entered  the  department. 

Presently  the  deck  guard  began  to  shout:  "Saint- 
Cloud!  Saint-Cloud!"  and  the  little  boat  glided  up 
alongside  the  floating  pier.  Speed  rose;  I  followed  him 

154 


A   MAN    TO    LET 

across  the  gang-plank;  and,  side  by  side,  we  climbed 
the  embankment. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Byram  is  going  travelling 
about  with  his  circus  in  spite  of  the  war?"  I  whispered. 

"Yes,  indeed.  We  start  south  from  Chartres  to- 
morrow." 

Presently  I  said:  "Do  you  suppose  we  will  go  to 
Lorient  or — Paradise?" 

"  We  will  if  I  have  anything  to  say  about  it,"  replied 
Speed,  throwing  away  his  ragged  cigar. 

And  I  walked  silently  beside  him,  thinking  of  the 
young  Countess  and  of  Buckhurst 


PART    SECOND 


IX 

THE  ROAD  TO  PARADISE 

ON  the  3d  of  November  Byram's  American  Circus, 
travelling  slowly  overland  toward  the  Spanish 
frontier,  drew  up  for  an  hour's  rest  at  Quimperle".  I, 
however,  as  usual,  prepared  to  ride  forward  to  select  a 
proper  place  for  our  night  encampment,  and  to  procure 
the  necessary  license. 

The  dusty  procession  halted  in  the  town  square, 
which  was  crowded,  and  as  I  turned  in  my  saddle  1 
saw  Byram  stand  up  on  the  red-and-gold  band-wagor? 
and  toss  an  armful  of  circulars  and  bills  into  the  throng. 

The  white  bits  of  paper  fluttered  wide  and  disappeared 
in  the  sea  of  white  Breton  head-dresses;  there  was  a 
rhythmic  clatter  of  wooden  shoes,  an  undulation  ol 
snowy  coiffes,  then  a  low  murmur  as  the  people  slowly 
read  the  circulars  aloud,  their  musical  monotone  ac- 
companying the  strident  nasal  voice  of  Byram,  who 
stood  on  the  tarnished  band-wagon  shouting  his  crowd 
around  him. 

" Mossoors  et  madams !  Ecooty  see  voo  play!  J'ai 
1'honnoor  de  vous  presenter  le  ploo  magnifique  cirque — " 
And  the  invariable  r6clame  continued  to  the  stereotyped 
finis;  the  clown  bobbed  up  behind  Byram  and  made 
his  usual  grimaces,  and  the  band  played  "The  Cork 
Leg." 

The  Bretons  looked  on  in  solemn  astonishment; 
my  comrade,  Speed,  languidly  stood  up  on  the  elephant 

159 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

and  informed  the  people  that  our  circus  was  travelling 
to  Lorient  to  fill  a  pressing  engagement,  and  if  we 
disappointed  the  good  people  of  Lorient  a  riot  would 
doubtless  result,  therefore  it  was  not  possible  to  give 
any  performance  before  we  reached  Lorient — and  the 
admission  was  only  ten  sous. 

Our  clown  then  picked  up  the  tatters  of  his  thread- 
bare comic  speech.  Speed,  munching  a  stale  sand- 
wich, came  strolling  over  to  where  I  stood  sponging 
out  my  horse's  mouth  with  cool  water. 

"Well  ride  into  Paradise  in  full  regalia,  I  suppose/' 
he  observed,  munching  away  reflectively;  "it's  the 
cheapest  reclame." 

I  dashed  a  bucket  of  water  over  my  horse's  legs. 
"  You'd  better  look  out  for  your  elephant;  those  drunk- 
en Bretons  are  irritating  him,"  I  said.  "Mahouts  are 
born,  not  made.-" 

Speed  turned ;  the  elephant  was  squealing  and  thrust- 
ing out  a  prehensile  trunk  among  the  people.  There 
would  be  trouble  if  any  fool  gave  him  tobacco. 

"  Hi  I "  cried  Speed, "  tobah !  Let  the  mem-log  alone ! 
Ail  he's  snatched  a  coiffe!  Drop  it,  Djebel  C'hast 
buhan!  Don't  be  afraid,  mesdames;  the  elephant  is 
not  uglyl  Chornit  oil  en  ho  trankilite!" 

The  elephant  appeared  to  understand  the  mixture 
of  Hindu,  French,  and  Breton — or  perhaps  it  was  the 
sight  of  the  steel  ankus  that  Speed  flourished  in  his 
quality  of  mahout.  The  crowd  pressed  forward  again, 
reassured  by  the  "Chomit  oil  en  ho  trankilite!" 

Speed  swallowed  the  last  crumb  of  his  sandwich, 
wiped  his  hands  on  his  handkerchief,  and  shoved 
them  into  his  shabby  pockets ;  the  ankus  dangled  from 
his  wrist. 

We  were  in  seedy  circumstances ;  an  endless  chain  of 
bad  luck  had  followed  us  from  Chartres — bad  weather, 
torrents  of  rain,  flooded  roads,  damaging  delays  on 

1 60 


THE    ROAD   TO    PARADISE 

railways  already  overcrowded  with  troops  and  war 
material,  and,  above  all,  we  encountered  everywhere 
that  ominous  apathy  which  burdened  the  whole  land, 
even  those  provinces  most  remote  from  the  seat  of  war. 
The  blockade  of  Paris  had  paralyzed  France. 

The  fortune  that  Byram  had  made  in  the  previous 
year  was  already  gone ;  we  no  longer  travelled  by  rail ; 
we  no  longer  slept  at  inns;  we  could  barely  pay  for 
the  food  for  our  animals. 

As  for  the  employe's,  the  list  had  been  cut  down  below 
the  margin  of  safety,  yet  for  a  month  no  salaries  had 
been  paid. 

As  I  stood  there  in  the  public  square  of  Quimperl6, 
passing  the  cooling  sponge  over  my  horse's  nose,  old 
Byram  came  out  of  the  hotel  on  the  corner,  edged  his 
way  through  the  stolid  crowd  that  surrounded  us  gaunt 
mountebanks,  and  shuffled  up  to  me. 

"I  guess  we  ain't  goin'  to  push  through  to-night, 
Scarlett,"  he  observed,  wiping  his  sweating  forehead 
on  the  sleeve  of  his  linen  duster. 

"No,  governor,  it's  too  far,"  I  said. 

"  Well  be  all  right,  anyway,"  added  Speed ;  "  there's 
a  change  in  the  moon  and  this  warm  weather  ought 
to  hold,  governor." 

"I  dunno,"  said  Byram,  with  an  abstracted  glance 
at  the  crowd  around  the  elephant. 

"Cheer  up,  governor,"  I  said,  "we  ought  at  least  to 
pay  expenses  to  the  Spanish  frontier.  Once  out  of 
France  well  find  your  luck  again  for  you." 

"Mebbe,"  he  said,  almost  wearily. 

I  glanced  at  Speed.  This  was  the  closest  approach 
to  a  whine  that  we  had  heard  from  Byram.  But  the 
man  had  changed  within  a  few  days;  his  thin  hair, 
brushed  across  his  large,  alert  ears,  was  dusty  and 
unkempt;  hollows  had  formed  under  his  shrewd  eyes; 
his  black  broadcloth  suit  was  as  soiled  as  his  linen, 
«  161 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

his  boots  shabby,  his  silk  hat  suitable  only  for  the 
stage  property  of  our  clown. 

"Don't  ride  too  far,"  said  Byram,  as  I  set  foot  to 
stirrup,  "them  band-wagon  teams  is  most  done  up, 
an'  that  there  camuel  gits  meaner  every  minute." 

I  wheeled  my  horse  out  into  the  road  to  Paradise, 
cursing  the  "  camuel,"  the  bane  of  our  wearied  caravan. 

"Got  enough  cash  for  the  license?"  asked  Byram, 
uneasily. 

"Plenty,  governor;  don't  worry.  Speed,  don't  let 
him  mope.  We'll  be  in  Lorient  this  time  to-morrow," 
I  called  back,  with  a  swagger  of  assumed  cheerfulness. 

Speed  stepped  swiftly  across  the  square  and  laid  his 
hand  on  my  stirrup. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  if  you  see  Buckhurst?" 

"Nothing." 

"Or  the  Countess?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  suppose  you  will  go  out  of  your  way  to  find  her 
if  she's  in  Paradise?" 

"Yes." 

"And  tell  her  the  truth  about  Buckhurst?" 

"I  expect  to." 

After  a  moment's  silence  he  said :  "  Don't  do  any- 
thing until  I  see  you  to-night,  will  you?" 

"All  right,"  I  replied,  and  set  my  horse  at  a  gallop 
over  the  old  stone  bridge. 

The  highway  to  the  sea  which  winds  down  through 
acres  of  yellow  gorse  and  waving  broom  to  the  cliffs 
of  Paradise  is  a  breezy  road,  swept  by  the  sweet  winds 
that  blow  across  Brittany  from  the  Cote  d'Or  to  the 
Pyrenees. 

It  is  a  land  of  sea-winds ;  and  when  in  the  still  noon- 
tide of  midsummer  the  winds  are  at  play  far  out  at 
sea,  their  traces  remain  in  the  furrowed  wheat,  in  the 
incline  of  solitary  trees,  in  the  breezy  trend  of  the  cliff- 

162 


THE    ROAD    TO    PARADISE 

clover  and  the  blackthorn  and  the  league-wide  sweep 
of  the  moorlands. 

And  through  this  land  whose  inland  perfume  always 
savored  the  unseen  sea  I  rode  down  to  Paradise. 

It  was  not  until  I  had  galloped  through  the  golden 
forest  of  Kerselec  that  I  came  in  sight  of  the  ocean,  al- 
though among  the  sunbeams  and  the  dropping  showers 
of  yellow  beech-leaves  I  fancied  I  could  hear  the  sound 
of  the  surf. 

And  now  I  rode  slowly,  in  full  sight  of  the  sea  where 
it  lay,  an  immense  gray  band  across  the  world,  touch- 
ing a  looming  horizon,  and  in  throat  and  nostril  the 
salt  stung  sweetly,  and  the  whole  world  seemed  younger 
for  the  breath  of  the  sea. 

From  the  purple  mystery  of  the  horizon  to  the  land- 
ward cliffs  the  ocean  appeared  motionless ;  it  was  only 
when  I  had  advanced  almost  to  the  cliffs  that  I  saw  the 
movement  of  waves — that  I  perceived  the  contrast  be- 
tween inland  inertia  and  the  restless  repose  of  the 
sea,  stirring  ceaselessly  since  creation. 

The  same  little  sparkling  river  I  had  crossed  in 
Quimperl6  I  now  saw  again,  spreading  out  a  wide, 
flat  current  which  broke  into  waves  where  it  tumbled 
seaward  across  the  bar ;  I  heard  the  white- winged  gulls 
mewing,  the  thunderous  monotone  of  the  surf,  and  a 
bell  in  some  unseen  chapel  ringing  sweetly. 

I  passed  a  stone  house,  another ;  then  the  white  road 
curved  under  the  trees  and  I  rode  straight  into  the 
heart  of  Paradise,  my  horse's  hoofs  awaking  echoes 
in  the  silent,  stone-paved  square. 

Never  had  I  so  suddenly  entered  a  place  so  peaceful, 
so  quiet  in  the  afternoon  sun — yet  the  silence  was  not 
absolute,  it  was  thrilling  with  exquisite  sound,  lost 
echoes  of  the  river  running  along  its  quay  of  stone, 
half -heard  harmonies  of  the  ocean  where  white  surf 
seethed  over  the  sands  beyond  the  headland. 

163 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

There  was  a  fountain,  too,  dripping  melodiously 
under  the  trees;  I  heard  the  breathless  humming  of  a 
spinning-wheel  from  one  of  the  low  houses  of  gray 
stone  which  enclosed  the  square,  and  a  young  girl 
singing,  and  the  drone  of  bees  in  a  bed  of  resida. 

So  this  was  Paradise !  Truly  the  name  did  not  seem 
amiss  here,  under  the  still  vault  of  blue  above ;  Paradise 
means  peace  to  so  many  of  us — surcease  of  care  and 
sound  and  the  brazen  trample  of  nations — not  the 
quiet  of  palace  corridors  or  the  tremendous  silence  of 
a  cathedral,  but  the  noiselessness  of  pleasant  sounds, 
moving  shadows  of  trees,  wordless  quietude,  simplicity. 

A  young  girl  with  a  face  like  the  Madonna  stole 
across  the  square  in  her  felt  shoes. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  the  mayor  lives?"  I  asked, 
looking  down  at  her  from  my  horse. 

She  raised  her  white -coiffed  head  with  an  innocent 
smile:  "Eman'  barz  ar  sal  o  leina." 

"Don't  you  speak  French?"  I  asked,  appalled. 

"Ho!  ia;  oui,  monsieur,  sil  faut  bien.  The  mayor 
is  at  breakfast  in  his  kitchen  yonder." 

"Thank  you,  my  child." 

I  turned  my  horse  across  the  shady  square  to  a  stone 
house  banked  up  with  bed  on  bed  of  scarlet  geraniums. 
The  windows  were  open;  a  fat  man  with  very  small 
eyes  sat  inside  eating  an  omelet. 

He  watched  me  dismount  without  apparent  curios- 
ity, and  when  I  had  tied  my  horse  and  walked  in  at  the 
open  door  he  looked  at  me  over  the  rim  of  a  glass  of 
cider,  and  slowly  finished  his  draught  without  blink- 
ing. Then  he  said,  "Bonjour." 

I  told  him  that  I  wanted  a  license  for  the  circus  to 
camp  for  one  night;  that  I  also  desired  permission  to 
pitch  camp  somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  He  made  out 
the  license,  stamped  it,  handed  it  to  me,  and  I  paid 
him  the  usual  fee. 

164 


THE    ROAD   TO   PARADISE 

"I've  heard  of  circuses,"  he  said;  "they're  like 
those  shows  at  country  fairs,  I  suppose." 

"Yes — in  a  way.     We  have  animals." 

"What  kind?" 

"Lions,  tigers — " 

"I've  seen  them." 

" — a  camel,  an  elephant — " 

"Alive?" 

"Certainly." 

"Ma  doueT'  he  said,  with  slow  emotion,  "have  you 
a  live  elephant?" 

I  admitted  that  fact. 

Presently  I  said,  "  I  hope  the  people  of  Paradise  will 
come  to  the  circus  when  we  get  to  Lorient." 

"Eh?  Not  they,"  said  the  mayor,  wagging  his 
head.  "Do  you  think  we  have  any  money  here  in 
Paradise?  And  then,"  he  added,  cunningly,  "we 
can  all  see  your  elephant  when  your  company  arrives. 
Why  should  we  pay  to  see  him  again?  War  does  not 
make  millionaires  out  of  the  poor." 

I  looked  miserably  around.  It  was  quite  true  that 
people  like  these  had  no  money  to  spend  on  strolling 
players.  But  we  had  to  live  somehow,  and  our  animals 
could  not  exist  on  air,  even  well-salted  air. 

"  How  much  will  it  cost  to  have  your  town-crier  an- 
nounce the  coming  of  the  circus?"  I  inquired. 

"  That  will  cost  ten  sous  if  he  drums  and  reads  the 
announcement  from  here  to  the  chateau." 

I  gave  the  mayor  ten  copper  pennies. 

"What  chateau?"  I  asked. 

"Dame,  the  chateau,  monsieur." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  "where  the  Countess  lives?" 

"The  Countess?    Yes,  of  course.     Who  else?" 

"Is  the  Countess  there?" 

"Oui,  dame,  and  others  not  to  my  taste." 

I  asked  no  more  questions,  but  the  mayor  did,  and 

165 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

when  he  found  it  might  take  some  time  to  pump  me, 
he  invited  me  to  share  his  omelet  and  cider  and  after- 
wards to  sit  in  the  sun  among  his  geraniums  and 
satisfy  his  curiosity  concerning  the  life  of  a  strolling 
player. 

I  was  glad  of  something  to  eat.  After  I  had  un- 
saddled my  horse  and  led  him  to  the  mayor's  stable 
and  had  paid  for  hay  and  grain,  I  returned  to  sit  in 
the  mayor's  garden  and  sniff  longingly  at  his  tobacco 
smoke  and  answer  his  impertinent  questions  as  good- 
naturedly  as  they  were  intended. 

But  even  the  mayor  of  Paradise  grew  tired  of  asking 
questions  in  time;  the  bees  droned  among  the  flowers, 
the  low  murmur  of  the  sea  stole  in  on  our  ears,  the 
river  softly  lapped  the  quay.  The  mayor  slept. 

He  was  fat,  very  fat ;  his  short,  velvet  jacket  hung 
heavy  with  six  rows  of  enormous  silver  buttons,  his 
little,  round  hat  was  tilted  over  his  nose.  A  silver 
buckle  decorated  it  in  front;  behind,  two  little  velvet 
ribbons  fluttered  in  futile  conflict  with  the  rising  sea- 
breeze. 

Men  in  embroidered  knee  -  breeches,  with  bare  feet 
thrust  into  straw-filled  sabots,  sat  sunning  on  the  quay 
under  the  purple  fig-trees ;  one  ragged  fellow  in  soiled 
velvet  bolero  and  embossed  leggings  lay  in  the  sun, 
chin  on  fists,  wooden  shoes  crossed  behind  him,  watch- 
ing the  water  with  the  eyes  of  a  poacher. 

This  mild,  balmy  November  weather,  this  afterglow 
of  summer  which  in  my  own  country  we  call  Indian 
summer,  had  started  new  blossoms  among  the  climb- 
ing tea-roses,  lovely  orange-tinted  blossoms,  and  some 
of  a  clear  lemon  color,  and  their  fragrance  filled  the  air. 
Nowhere  do  roses  blow  as  they  blow  near  the  sea,  no- 
where have  I  breathed  such  perfume  as  I  breathed  that 
drowsy  afternoon  in  Paradise,  where  in  every  door- 
yard  thickets  of  clove-scented  pinks  carpeted  the  ground 

166 


THE    ROAD   TO   PARADISE 

and  tall  spikes  of  snowy  phlox  glimmered  silver-white 
in  the  demi-light. 

Where  on  earfti  could  a  more  peaceful  scene  be  found 
than  in  this  sea-lulled  land,  here  in  the  subdued  light 
under  aged,  spreading  oaks,  where  moss  crept  over  the 
pavements  and  covered  the  little  fountain  as  though 
it  had  been  the  stony  brink  of  a  limpid  forest  spring? 

The  mayor  woke  up  toward  five  o'clock  and  stared 
at  me  with  owlish  gravity  as  though  daring  me  to  say 
that  he  had  been  asleep. 

"Urn — ah — ma  fois  oui!"  he  muttered,  blowing  his 
nose  loudly  in  a  purple  silk  bandanna.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  added:  "C'est  la  vie, 
monsieur.  Que  voulez-vous?" 

And  it  was  one  kind  of  life  after  all — a  blessed  re- 
lease from  the  fever  of  that  fierce  farandole  which  we 
of  the  outer  world  call  "life." 

The  mayor  scratched  his  ear,  yawned,  stretched  one 
leg,  then  the  other,  and  glanced  at  me. 

"  Paris  still  holds  out?"  he  asked,  with  another  yawn. 

'Oh  yes,"  I  replied. 

"And  the  war — is  it  still  going  badly  for  us?" 

"There  is  always  hope/'  i  answered. 

"  Hope,"  he  grumbled ;  "oh  yes,  we  know  what  hope 
is — we  of  the  coast  live  on  it  when  there's  no  bread; 
but  hope  never  yet  filled  my  belly  for  me." 

"  Has  the  war  touched  you  here  in  Paradise?"  I  asked. 

"Touched  us?  Ho!  Say  it  has  crushed  us  and 
I'll  strike  palms  with  you.  Why,  not  a  keel  has  passed 
out  of  the  port  since  August.  Where  is  the  fishing- 
fleet?  Where  are  the  sardine  sloops  that  ought  to  have 
sailed  from  Algiers?  Where  are  the  Icelanders?" 

"Well,  where  are  they?"  I  suggested. 

"Where?  Ask  the  semaphore  yonder.  Where  are 
our  salt  schooners  for  the  Welsh  coast?  I  don't  know. 
They  have  not  sailed,  that's  all  I  know.  You  do  well 

167 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

to  come  with  your  circus  and  your  elephant!  You 
can  peddle  diamonds  in  the  poor-house,  too,  if  it  suits 
your  taste." 

"  Have  the  German  cruisers  frightened  all  your  craft 
from  the  sea?"  I  asked,  astonished. 

"  Yes,  partly.  Then  there's  an  ugly  French  cruiser 
lying  off  Groix,  yonder,  and  her  black  stacks  are  drib- 
bling smoke  all  day  and  all  night.  We  have  orders 
to  keep  off  and  use  Lorient  when  we  want  a  port." 

"  Do  you  know  why  the  cruiser  warns  your  fishing- 
boats  from  this  coast?"  I  inquired. 

"No,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  cruiser?" 

"  She's  a  new  one,  the  Fer-de-Lance.  And  if  I  were 
not  a  patriot  and  a  Breton  I'd  say :  'May  Sainte-Anne 
rot  her  where  she  lies ;  she's  brought  a  curse  on  the 
coast  from  Lorient  to  the  Saint  - Julien  Light ! — and  the 
ghosts  of  the  Icelanders  will  work  her  evil  yet. ' ' 

The  mayor's  round,  hairless  face  was  red  ;  he  thumped 
the  arm  of  his  chair  with  pudgy  fists  and  wagged  his 
head. 

"We  have  not  seen  the  end  of  this,"  he  said — "oh 
no!  There's  a  curse  coming  on  Paradise — the  cruiser 
brought  it,  and  it's  coming.  He!  did  a  Bannalec  man 
not  hear  the  were- wolf  in  Kerselec  forest  a  week  since? 
Pst !  Not  a  word,  monsieur.  But  old  Kloark,  of  Ros- 
coff,  heard  it  too — oui  dame ! — and  he  knows  the  howl 
of  the  Loup-Garou!  Besides,  did  I  not  with  my  own 
eyes  see  a  black  cormorant  fly  inland  from  the  sea? 
And,  by  Sainte-Eline  of  Paradise !  the  gulls  squeal  when 
there's  no  storm  brewing  and  the  langons  prick  the  dark 
with  flames  along  the  coast  till  you'd  swear  the  witches 
of  Ker-Is  were  lighting  death-candles  from  Paradise 
to  Pont-Aven." 

"Do  you  believe  in  witches,  monsieur  the  mayor?" 
I  asked,  gravely. 

168  ' 


THE    ROAD   TO    PARADISE 

He  gave  me  a  shrewd  glance.  "  Not  at  all — not  even 
in  bed  and  the  light  out,"  he  said,  with  a  fat  swagger. 
"  /  believe  in  magic  ?  Ho !  f oi  non !  But  many  do. 
Oui  dame!  Many  do." 

"Here  in  Paradise?" 

"  Parbleu !  Men  of  parts,  too,  monsieur.  Now  there's 
Terrec,  who  has  the  evil  eye — not  that  I  believe  it,  but, 
damn  him,  he'd  better  not  try  any  tricks  on  me! 

"  Others  stick  twigs  of  aube"pine  in  their  pastures ; 
the  apothecary  is  a  man  of  science,  yet  every  year  he 
makes  a  bonfire  of  dried  gorse  and  drives  his  cattle 
through  the  smoke.  It  may  keep  off  witches  and  light- 
ning— or  it  may  not.  I  myself  do  not  do  such  things." 

"Still  you  believe  the  cruiser  out  at  sea  yonder  is 
going  to  bring  you  evil?" 

"She  has  brought  it.  But  it's  all  the  same  to  me. 
I  am  mayor,  and  exempt,  and  I  have  cider  and  tobacco 
and  boudin  for  a  few  months  yet." 

He  caressed  his  little,  selfish  chin,  which  hung  between 
his  mottled  jowls,  peered  cunningly  at  me,  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  say  something,  but  at  that  moment  we 
both  caught  sight  of  a  peasant  running  and  waving  a 
packet  of  blue  papers  in  the  air.  "  Monsieur  the  mayor ! 
Monsieur  the  mayor!"  he  called,  while  still  far  away. 

"Cr£  cochon  de  malheur!"  muttered  the  mayor,  turn- 
ing pale.  "He's  got  a  telegram!" 

The  man  came  clattering  across  the  square  in  his 
wooden  shoes. 

"  A  telegram,"  repeated  the  mayor,  wiping  the  sudden 
sweat  from  his  forehead.  "I  never  get  telegrams.  I 
don't  want  telegrams!" 

He  turned  to  me,  almost  bursting  with  suppressed 
prophecy. 

"  It  has  come — the  evil  that  the  black  cruiser  brings 
us!  You  laughed!  Tenez,  monsieur;  there's  your 
bad  luck  in  these  blue  morsels  of  paper!" 

169 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

And  he  snatched  the  telegram  from  the  breathless 
messenger,  reading  it  with  dilating  eyes. 

For  a  long  while  he  sat  there  studying  the  telegram, 
his  fat  forefinger  following  the  scrawl,  a  crease  deepen- 
ing above  his  eyebrows,  and  all  the  while  his  lips  moved 
in  noiseless  repetition  of  the  words  he  spelled  with  dif- 
ficulty and  his  labored  breathing  grew  louder. 

When  at  length  the  magistrate  had  mastered  the  con- 
tents of  his  telegram,  he  looked  up  with  a  stupid  stare. 

"I  want  my  drummer.  Where's  the  town-crier?" 
he  demanded,  as  though  dazed. 

"He  has  gone  to  Lorient,  m'sieu  the  mayor,"  vent- 
ured the  messenger. 

"To  get  drunk.  I  remember.  Imbecile!  Why  did 
he  go  to-day?  Are  there  not  six  other  days  in  this 
cursed  week?  Who  is  there  to  drum?  Nobody.  No- 
body knows  how  in  Paradise.  Seigneur,  Dieu!  the 
ignorance  of  this  town!" 

"M'sieu  the  mayor,"  ventured  the  messenger, 
"  there's  Jacqueline. " 

"Ho!  Vrai.  The  Lizard's  young  one!  She  can 
drum,  they  say.  She  stole  my  drum  once.  Why  did 
she  steal  it  but  to  drum  upon  it?" 

"The  little  witch  can  drum  them  awake  in  Ker-Is," 
muttered  the  messenger. 

The  mayor  rose,  looked  around  the  square,  frowned. 
Then  he  raised  his  voice  in  a  bellow:  "Jacqueline! 
Jacqueline!  Thou  Jacqueline!" 

A  far  voice  answered,  faintly  breaking  across  the 
square  from  the  bridge :  "  She  is  on  the  rocks  with  her 
sea-rake!" 

The  mayor  thrust  the  blue  telegram  into  his  pocket 
and  waddled  out  of  his  garden,  across  the  square,  and 
up  the  path  to  the  cliffs. 

Uninvited,  I  went  with  him. 


X 

THE  TOWN-CRIER 

THE  bell  in  the  unseen  chapel   ceased   ringing  as 
we  came  out  on  the  cliffs  of  Paradise,  where,  on 
the  horizon,  the  sun  hung  low,  belted  with  a  single 
ribbon  of  violet  cloud. 

Over  acres  of  foaming  shoals  the  crimson  light  flick- 
ered and  spread,  painting  the  eastern  cliffs  with  som- 
bre fire.  The  ebb-tide,  red  as  blood,  tumbled  seaward 
across  the  bar,  leaving  every  ledge  a  glowing  cinder 
under  the  widening  conflagration  in  the  west. 

The  mayor  carried  his  silver-buttoned  jacket  over 
his  arm ;  the  air  had  grown  sultry.  As  we  walked  our 
gigantic  shadows  strode  away  before  us  across  the 
kindling  stubble,  seeming  to  lengthen  at  every  stride. 

Below  the  cliffs,  on  a  crescent  of  flat  sand,  from  which 
sluggish,  rosy  rivulets  crawled  seaward,  a  man  stood 
looking  out  across  the  water.  And  the  mayor  stopped 
and  called  down  to  him :  "  Ohe",  the  Lizard !  What  do 
you  see  on  the  ocean — you  below?" 

"I  see  six  war-ships  speeding  fast  in  column,"  re- 
plied the  man,  without  looking  up. 

The  mayor  hastily  shaded  his  eyes  with  one  fat  hand, 
muttering:  "All  poachers  have  eyes  like  sea-hawks. 
There  is  a  smudge  of  smoke  to  the  north.  Holy  Vir- 
gin, what  eyes  the  rascal  has!" 

As  for  me,  strain  my  eyes  as  I  would,  I  saw  nothing 
save  the  faintest  stain  of  smoke  on  the  horizon. 

171 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"H£,  Lizard!  Are  they  German,  your  six  war- 
ships?" bawled  the  mayor.  His  voice  had  suddenly 
become  tremulous. 

"They  are  French,"  replied  the  poacher,  tranquilly. 

"Then  Sainte-Eline  keep  them  from  the  rocks!" 
sang  out  the  mayor.  "  Oh6,  Lizard,  I  want  somebody  to 
drum  and  read  a  proclamation.  Where's  Jacqueline?" 

At  that  instant  a  young  girl,  a  mere  child,  appeared 
on  the  beach,  dragging  a  sea-rake  over  the  ground 
behind  her.  She  was  a  lithe  creature,  bare-limbed 
and  ragged,  with  the  sea-tan  on  throat  and  knee.  The 
blue  tatters  of  her  skirt  hung  heavy  with  brine;  the 
creamy  skin  on  her  arms  glittered  with  wet  spray,  and 
her  hair  was  wet,  too,  clustering  across  her  cheeks  in 
damp  elf-locks. 

The  mayor  glanced  at  her  with  that  stolid  contempt 
which  Finistere  Bretons  cherish  toward  those  women 
who  show  their  hair — an  immodesty  unpardonable  in 
the  eyes  of  most  Bretons. 

The  girl  caught  sight  of  the  mayor  and  gave  him  a 
laughing  greeting  which  he  returned  with  a  shrug. 

"  If  you  want  a  town-crier,"  she  called  up,  in  a  de- 
liciously  fresh  voice,  scarcely  tinged  with  the  accent, 
"I'll  cry  your  edicts  and  Til  drum  for  you,  too!" 

"Can  your  daughter  beat  the  drum?"  asked  the 
mayor  of  the  poacher,  ignoring  the  girl's  eager  face 
upturned. 

"Yes,"  said  the  poacher,  indifferently,  "and  she  can 
also  beat  the  devil  with  two  sticks." 

The  girl  threw  her  rake  into  a  boat  and  leaped  upon 
the  rocks  at  the  base  of  the  cliff. 

"Jacqueline!  Don't  come  up  that  way!"  bawled 
the  mayor,  horrified.  "Hey!  Robert!  Ohe!  Lizard! 
Stop  her  or  she'll  break  her  neck!" 

The  poacher  looked  up  at  his  daughter  then  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders  and  squatted  down  on  his  ragged 

172 


THE    TOWN-CRIER 

haunches,  restless  eyes  searching  the  level  ocean,  as 
sea-birds  search. 

Breathless,  hot,  and  laughing,  the  girl  pulled  herself 
up  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  I  held  out  my  hand  to  aid 
her,  but  she  pushed  it  away,  crying,  "  Thank  you  all 
the  same,  but  here  I  am!" 

"Spawn  of  the  Lizard/'  I  heard  the  mayor  mutter 
to  himself,  "like  a  snake  you  wriggle  where  honest 
folk  fall  to  destruction!"  But  he  spoke  condescend- 
ingly to  the  bright-eyed,  breathless  child.  "  I'll  pay  six 
sous  if  you'll  drum  for  me." 

"I'll  do  it  for  love,"  she  said,  saucily — "for  the  love 
of  drumming,  not  for  your  beaux  yeux,  m'sieu  le  maire. " 

The  mayor  looked  at  her  angrily,  but,  probably  re- 
membering he  was  at  her  mercy,  suppressed  his  wrath 
and  held  out  the  telegram.  "Can  you  read  that,  my 
child?" 

The  girl,  still  breathing  rapidly  from  her  scramble, 
rested  her  hands  on  her  hips  and,  head  on  one  side, 
studied  the  blue  sheets  of  the  telegram  over  the  mayor's 
outstretched  arm. 

"  Yes,  I  can  read  it.     Why  not?    Can't  you?" 

"Read?  I  the  mayor  of  Paradise!"  repeated  the 
outraged  magistrate.  "  What  do  you  mean,  lizard  of 
lizards!  gorse  catl" 

"Now  if  you  are  going  to  say  such  things  I  won't 
drum  for  you,"  said  the  child,  glancing  at  me  out  of 
her  sea-blue  eyes  and  giving  a  shake  to  her  elf-locks. 

"  Yes,  you  will !"  bawled  the  angry  mayor.  "  Shame 
on  your  manners,  Jacqueline  Garenne !  Shame  on  your 
hair  hanging  where  all  the  world  can  see  it  I  Shame  on 
your  bare  legs — " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  child,  unabashed.  "  God  made 
my  legs,  m'sieu  the  mayor,  and  my  hair,  too.  If  my 
coiffe  does  not  cover  my  hair,  neither  does  the  small 
Paris  hat  of  the  Countess  de  Vassart  cover  her  hair. 

173 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Complain  of  tne  Countess  to  m'sieu  the  cure,  then  1 
will  listen  to  you." 

The  mayor  glared  at  her,  but  she  tossed  her  head  and 
laughed. 

"  Ho  fois !  Everybody  knows  what  you  are/'  sniffed 
the  mayor — "and  nobody  cares,  either,"  he  muttered, 
waddling  past  me,  telegram  in  hand. 

The  child,  quite  unconcerned,  fell  into  step  beside 
me,  saying,  confidentially:  "When  I  was  little  I  used 
to  cry  when  they  talked  to  me  like  that.  But  I  don't 
now;  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  they  are  no  better 
than  I." 

"I  don't  know  why  anybody  should  abuse  you," 
I  said,  loudly  enough  for  the  mayor  to  hear.  But  that 
functionary  waddled  on,  puffing,  muttering,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  in  the  narrow  cliff-path  to  strike 
flint  to  tinder  or  to  refill  the  tiny  bowl  of  his  pipe,  which 
a  dozen  puffs  always  exhausted. 

"Oh,  they  all  abuse  us,"  said  the  child,  serenely. 
"  You  see,  you  are  a  stranger  and  don't  understand ; 
but  you  will  if  you  live  here." 

"Why  is  everybody  unkind  to  you?"  I  asked,  after 
a  moment. 

"  Why?  Oh,,  because  I  am  what  I  am  and  my  father 
is  the  Lizard. 

"A  poacher ?" 

"Ah,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  with  delicious 
malice,  "what  is  a  poacher,  monsieur?" 

"Sometimes  he's  a  fine  fellow  gone  wrong,"  I  said, 
laughing.  "  So  I  don't  believe  any  ill  of  your  father, 
or  of  you,  either.  Will  you  drum  for  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"  For  you,  monsieur?  Why,  yes.  What  am  I  to  read 
for  you?" 

I  gave  her  a  hand-bill;  at  the  first  glance  her  eyes 
sparkled,  the  color  deepened  under  her  coat  of  amber 
tan ;  she  caught  her  breath  and  read  rapidly  to  the  end. 

174 


THE    TOWN-CRIER 

"Oh,  how  beautiful,"  she  said,  softly.  "Am  I  to 
road  this  in  the  square?" 

"I  will  give  you  a  franc  to  read  it,  Jacqueline." 

"  Xo,  no — only — oh,  do  let  me  come  in  and  see  the 
heavenly  wonders!  Would  you,  monsieur?  I — I  can- 
not pay — but  would — could  you  let  me  come  in?  I 
will  read  your  notice,  anyway;"  she  added,  with  a 
quaver  in  her  voice. 

The  flushed  face,  the  eager,  upturned  eyes,  deep  blue 
as  the  sea,  the  little  hands  clutching  the  show-bill, 
which  fairly  quivered  between  the  tanned  fingers — 
all  these  touched  and  amused  me.  The  child  was  mad 
with  excitement. 

What  she  anticipated,  Heaven  only  knows.  Shabby 
and  tarnished  as  we  were,  the  language  of  our  hand- 
bills made  up  in  gaudiness  for  the  dingy  reality. 

"Come  whenever  you  like,  Jacqueline,"  I  said. 
"Ask  for  me  at  the  gate." 

"And  who  are  you,  monsieur?" 

"My  name  is  Scarlett." 

"Scarlett,"  she  whispered,  as  though  naming  a  sa- 
cred thing. 

The  mayor,  who  had  toddled  some  distance  ahead  of 
us,  now  halted  in  the  square,  looking  back  at  us  through 
the  red  evening  light. 

"  Jacqueline,  the  drum  is  in  my  house.  I'll  lend  you 
a  pair  of  sabots,  too.  Come,  hasten  little  idler!" 

We  entered  the  mayor's  garden,  where  the  flowers 
were  glowing  in  the  lustre  of  the  setting  sun.  I  sat 
down  in  a  chair;  Jacqueline  waited,  hands  resting  on 
her  hips,  small,  shapely  toes  restlessly  brushing  the 
grass. 

"  Truly  this  coming  wonder-show  will  be  a  peep  into 
paradise,"  she  murmured.  "Can  all  be  true  —  really 
true  as  it  is  printed  here  in  this  bill — I  wonder — " 

Before  she  had  time  to  speculate  further,  the  mayor 

175 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

reappeared  with  drum  and  drum -sticks  in  one  hand 
and  a  pair  of  sabots  in  the  other.  He  flung  the  sabots 
on  the  grass,  and  Jacqueline,  quite  docile  now,  slipped 
both  bare  feet  into  them. 

"You  may  keep  them,"  said  the  mayor,  puffing  out 
his  mottled  cheeks  benevolently;  "decency  must  be 
maintained  in  Paradise,  even  if  it  beggars  me." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jacqueline,  sweetly,  slinging  the 
drum  across  her  hip  and  tightening  the  cords.  She 
clicked  the  ebony  sticks,  touched  the  tightly  drawn 
parchment,  sounding  it  with  delicate  fingers,  then  look- 
ed up  at  the  mayor  for  further  orders. 

"Go,  my  child,"  said  the  mayor,  amiably,  and 
Jacqueline  marched  through  the  garden  out  into  the 
square  by  the  fountain,  drum-sticks  clutched  in  one 
tanned  fist,  the  scrolls  of  paper  in  the  other. 

In  the  centre  of  the  square  she  stood  a  moment,  look- 
ing around,  then  raised  the  drum-sticks;  there  came 
a  click,  a  flash  of  metal,  and  the  quiet  square  echoed 
with  the  startling  outcrash.  Back  from  roof  and 
wall  bounded  the  echoes;  the  stony  pavement  rang 
with  the  racket.  Already  a  knot  of  people  had  gathered 
around  her;  others  came  swiftly  to  windows  and  door- 
steps ;  the  loungers  left  their  stone  benches  by  the  river, 
the  maids  of  Paradise  flocked  from  the  bridge.  Even 
Robert  the  Lizard  drew  in  his  dripping  line  to  listen. 
The  drum-roll  ceased. 

"  Attention !  Men  of  Finist&re !  By  order  of  the  gov- 
ernor of  Lorient,  all  men  between  the  ages  of  twenty 
and  forty,  otherwise  not  exempt,  are  ordered  to  report 
at  the  navy-yard  barracks,  war-port  of  Lorient,  on  the 
5th  of  November  of  the  present  year,  to  join  the  army 
of  the  Loire. 

"Whosoever  is  absent  at  roll-call  will  be  liable 
to  the  punishment  provided  for  such  delinquents 
under  the  laws  governing  the  state  of  siege  now 

176 


THE   TOWN-CRIER 

declared   in   Morhihan    and    Finistere.      Citizens,    to 
arms ! 

"The  enemy  is  on  the  march!  Though  Aletz  has 
fallen  through  treachery,  Paris  holds  firm!  Let  the 
provinces  rise  and  hurl  the  invader  from  the  soil  of  the 
motherland ! 

"  Bretons !  France  calls !  Answer  with  your  ancient 
battle-cry, '  Sainte- Anne !  Sainte-Anne!'  The  eyes  of 
the  world  are  on  Armorica!  To  arms!" 

The  girl's  voice  ceased ;  a  dead  silence  reigned  in  the 
square.  The  men  looked  at  one  another  stupidly;  a 
woman  began  to  whimper. 

"The  curse  is  on  Paradise!"  cried  a  hoarse  voice. 

The  drummer  was  already  drawing  another  paper 
from  her  ragged  pocket,  and  again  in  the  same  clear, 
emotionless  voice,  but  slightly  drawling  her  words,  she 
read: 

"  To  the  good  people  of  Paradise !  The  manager  of 
the  famous  American  travelling  circus,  lately  returned 
from  a  tour  of  the  northern  provinces,  with  camels, 
elephants,  lions,  and  a  magnificent  company  of  artists, 
announces  a  stupendous  exhibition  to  be  held  in  Lorient 
at  greatly  reduced  prices,  thus  enabling  the  intelligent 
and  appreciative  people  of  Paradise  to  honor  the  Repub- 
lican Circus,  recently  known  as  the  Imperial  Circus,  with 
their  benevolent  and  discerning  patronage !  Long  live 
France!  Long  live  the  Republic!  Long  live  the  Circus!" 

A  resounding  roll  of  the  drum  ended  the  announce- 
ments ;  the  girl  slung  the  drum  over  her  shoulder,  turned 
to  the  right,  and  passed  over  the  stone  bridge,  sabots 
clicking.  Presently  from  the  hamlet  of  Alincourt  over 
the  stream  came  the  dull  roll  of  the  drum  again  and 
the  faint,  clear  voice: 

"Attention!  Men  of  Finistere!  By  order  of  the 
governor  of  Lorient,  all  ,men — '  The  wind  changed 
and  her  voice  died  away  among  the  trees. 

177 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

The  maids  of  Paradise  were  weeping  now  by  the 
fountain;  the  men  gathered  near,  and  their  slow, 
hushed  voices  scarcely  rose  above  the  ripple  of  the 
stream  where  Robert  the  Lizard  fished  in  silence. 

It  was  after  sunset  before  Jacqueline  finished  her 
rounds.  She  had  read  her  proclamation  in  Alincourt 
hamlet,  she  had  read  it  in  Sainte-Ysole,  her  drum  had 
aroused  the  inert  loungers  on  the  breakwater  at  Trinite- 
on-Sea.  Now,  with  her  drum  on  her  shoulder  and 
her  sabots  swinging  in  her  left  hand,  she  came  down 
the  cliffs  beside  the  Chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Paradise, 
excited  and  expectant. 

Of  the  first  proclamation  which  she  had  read  she 
apparently  understood  little.  When  she  announced 
the  great  disaster  at  Metz  in  the  north,  and  when  her 
passionless  young  voice  proclaimed  the  Iev6e  en  masse — 
the  call  to  arms  for  the  men  of  the  coast  from  Sainte- 
Ysole  to  Trinite"  Beacon — she  scarcely  seemed  to  realize 
what  it  meant,  although  all  around  her  women  turned 
away  sobbing,  or  clung,  deathly  white,  to  sons  and 
husbands. 

But  there  was  certainly  something  in  the  other  proc- 
lamation which  thrilled  her  and  set  her  heart  galloping 
as  she  loitered  on  the  cliff. 

I  walked  across  to  the  Ouimperle  road  and  met 
her,  dancing  along  with  her  drum;  and  she  promptly 
confided  her  longings  and  desires  to  me  as  we  stood 
together  for  an  instant  on  the  high-road.  The  circus! 
Once,  it  appeared,  she  had  seen — very  far  off — a  glit- 
tering creature  turning  on  a  trapeze.  It  was  at  the 
fair  near  Bannalec,  and  it  was  so  long  ago  that  she 
scarcely  remembered  anything  except  that  somebody 
had  pulled  her  away  while  she  stood  enchanted,  and 
the  flashing  light  of  fairyland  had  been  forever  shut 
from  her  eyes. 

At  times,  when  the  maids  of  Paradise  were  sociable 
178 


THE    TOWN-CRIER 

at  the  well  in  the  square,  she  had  listened  to  stories  of 
the  splendid  circus  which  came  once  to  Lorient.  And 
now  it  was  coming  again! 

We  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  high-road  looking 
through  the  dust  haze,  she  doubtless  dreaming  of  the 
splendors  to  come,  I  very,  very  tired.  The  curtain  of 
golden  dust  reddened  in  the  west;  the  afterglow  lit  up 
the  sky  once  more  with  brilliant  little  clouds  suspended 
from  mid-zenith.  The  moorland  wind  rose  and  tossed 
her  elf-locks  in  her  eyes  and  whipped  her  skirt  till  the 
rags  fluttered  above  her  smooth,  bare  knees. 

Suddenly,  straight  out  of  the  naming  gates  of  the 
sunset,  the  miracle  was  wrought.  Celestial  shapes  in 
gold  and  purple  rose  up  in  the  gilded  dust,  chariots  of 
silver,  milk-white  horses  plumed  with  fire. 

Breathless,  she  shrank  back  among  the  weeds,  one 
hand  pressed  to  her  throbbing  throat.  But  the  vision 
grew  as  she  stared ;  there  was  heavenly  music,  too,  and 
the  clank  of  metal  chains,  and  the  smothered  pounding 
of  hoofs.  Then  she  caught  sight  of  something  through 
the  dust  that  filled  her  with  a  delicious  terror,  and  she 
cried  out.  For  there,  uptowering  in  the  haze,  came 
trudging  a  great,  gray  creature,  a  fearsome,  swaying 
thing  in  crimson  trappings,  flapping  huge  ears.  It 
shuffled  past,  swinging  a  dusty  trunk;  the  sparkling 
horsemen  cantered  by,  tin  armor  blazing  in  the  fading 
glory;  the  chariots  dragged  after,  and  the  closed  dens 
of  beasts  rolled  behind  in  single  file,  followed  by  the 
band-wagon,  where  Heaven-inspired  musicians  played 
frantically  and  a  white-faced  clown  balanced  his  hat 
on  a  stick  and  shrieked. 

So  the  circus  passed  into  Paradise;  and  I  turned  and 
followed  in  the  wake  of  dust,  stale  odors,  and  clamor- 
ous discord,  sick  at  heart  of  wandering  over  a  world 
I  had  not  found  too  kind. 

And  at  my  heels  stole  Jacqueline. 

179 


XI 

IN  CAMP 

WE  went  into  camp  under  the  landward  glacis  of 
the  cliffs,  in  a  field  of  clover  which  was  to  be 
ploughed  under  in  a  few  days.  We  all  were  there  ex- 
cept Kelly  Eyre,  who  had  gone  to  telegraph  the  gov- 
ernor of  Lorient  for  permission  to  enter  the  port  with 
the  circus.  Another  messenger  also  left  camp  on  pri- 
vate business  for  me. 

It  was  part  of  my  duty  to  ration  the  hay  for  the  ele- 
phant and  the  thrice-accursed  camel.  The  latter  had 
just  bitten  Mr.  Grigg,  our  clown — not  severely — and 
Speed  and  Horan  the  "  Strong  Man  "  were  hobbling  the 
brute  as  I  finished  feeding  my  lions  and  came  up  to 
assist  the  others. 

"Watch  that  darn  elephant,  too,  Mr.  Grigg,"  said 
Byram,  looking  up  from  a  plate  of  fried  ham  that  Miss 
Crystal,  our  "  Trapeze  Lady/'  had  just  cooked  for  him 
over  our  gypsy  fires  of  driftwood. 

"Look  at  that  elephant!  Look  at  him!"  continued 
Byram,  with  a  trace  of  animation  lighting  up  his  care- 
worn face — "look  at  him  now  chuckin'  hay  over  his 
back.  Scrape  it  up,  Mr.  Scarlett;  hay's  thirty  a  ton 
in  this  war-starved  country." 

As  I  started  to  clean  up  the  precious  hay,  the  ele- 
phant gave  a  curious  grunt  and  swung  his  trunk  tow- 
ard me. 

"  There's  somethin'  paltry  about  that  elephant,"  said 
180 


Byram,  in  a  complaining  voice,  rising,  with  plate  of 
ham  in  one  hand,  fork  in  the  other.  "  He's  gittin'  as 
mean  as  that  crafty  camuel.  Make  him  move,  Mr. 
Speed,  or  he'll  put  his  foot  on  the  trombone." 

"H6  Djebe!     Mail!"  said  Speed,  sharply. 

The  elephant  obediently  shuffled  forward;  Byram 
sat  down  again,  and  wearily  cut  himself  a  bit  of  fried 
ham ;  and  presently  we  were  all  sitting  around  the  long 
camp-table  in  the  glare  of  two  smoky  petroleum  torches, 
eating  our  bread  and  ham  and  potatoes  and  drinking 
Breton  cider,  a  jug  of  which  Mr.  Horan  had  purchased 
for  a  few  coppers. 

Some  among  us  were  too  tired  to  eat,  many  too  tired 
for  conversation,  yet,  from  habit  we  fell  into  small  talk 
concerning  the  circus,  the  animals,  the  prospects  of  bet- 
ter daj7s. 

The  ladies  of  the  company,  whatever  quarrels  they 
indulged  in  among  themselves,  stood  loyally  by  Byram 
in  his  anxiety  and  need.  Miss  Crystal  and  Miss  Delany 
displayed  edifying  optimism;  Mrs.  Horan  refrained 
from  nagging;  Mrs.  Grigg,  a  pretty  little  creature,  who 
was  one  of  the  best  equestriennes  I  ever  saw,  declared 
that  we  were  living  too  well  and  that  a  little  dieting 
wouldn't  hurt  anybody. 

McCadger,  our  band-master,  came  over  from  the  other 
fire  to  say  that  the  men  had  finished  grooming  the 
horses,  and  would  I  inspect  the  picket-line,  as  Kelly 
Eyre  was  still  absent. 

When  I  returned,  the  ladies  had  retired  to  their 
blankets  under  their  shelter-tent;  poor  little  Grigg  lay 
asleep  at  the  table,  his  tired,  ugly  head  resting  among 
the  unwashed  tin  plates ;  Speed  sprawled  in  his  chair, 
smoking  a  short  pipe;  Byram  sat  all  hunched  up,  his 
head  sunk,  eyes  vacantly  following  the  movements 
of  two  men  who  were  washing  dishes  in  the  flickering 
torchlight. 

181 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

He  looked  up  at  me,  saying :  "  I  guess  Mr.  Speed  is 
right.  Them  lions  o'  yourn  is  fed  too  much  horse- 
meat.  Overeatin'  is  overheatin' ;  we've  got  to  give  'em 
beef  or  they'll  be  clawin'  you.  Yes,  sir,  they're  all  het 
up.  Hear  'em  growl!" 

"That's  a  fable,  governor,"  I  said,  smiling  and  drop- 
ping into  a  chair.  "  I've  heard  that  theory  before,  but 
it  isn't  true." 

"The  trouble  with  your  lions  is  that  you  play  with 
them  too  much  and  they're  losing  respect  for  you," 
said  Speed,  drowsily. 

"The  trouble  with  my  lions,"  said  I,  "is  that  they 
were  born  in  captivity.  Give  me  a  wild  lion,  caught 
on  his  native  heath,  and  I'll  know  what  to  expect  from 
him  when  I  tame  him.  But  no  man  on  earth  can  tell 
what  a  lion  born  in  captivity  will  do." 

The  hard  cider  had  cheered  Byram  a  little;  he  drew 
a  cherished  cigar  from  his  vest-pocket,  offered  it  to  me, 
and  when  I  considerately  refused,  he  carefully  set  it 
alight  with  a  splinter  from  the  fire.  Its  odor  was  in- 
describable. 

"  Luck's  a  curious  phenomena,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Scarlett?" 
he  said. 

I  agreed  with  him. 

"  Luck,"  continued  Byram,  waving  his  cigar  toward 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  "is  the  rich  man's  slave 
an'  the  poor  man's  tyrant.  It's  also  a  see-saw.  When 
the  devil  plays  in  luck  the  cherubim  git  spanked — or 
words  to  that  effec' — not  meanin'  no  profanity." 

"It's  about  like  that,  governor,"  admitted  Speed, 
lazily. 

Byram  leaned  back  and  sucked  meditatively  at  his 
cigar.  The  new  moon  was  just  rising  over  the  ele- 
phant's hindquarters,  and  the  poetry  of  the  incident 
appeared  to  move  the  manager  profoundly.  He  turned 
and  surveyed  the  dim  bivouac,  the  two  silent  tents,  the 

182 


IN   CAMP 

monstrous,  shadowy  bulk  of  the  elephant,  rocking 
monotonously  against  the  sky.  "Kind  of  Silurian 
an'  solemn,  ain't  it,"  he  murmured,  "the  moon  shinin' 
onto  the  rump  of  that  primeval  pachyderm.  It's  like 
the  dark  ages  of  the  behemoth  an'  the  cony.  I  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  when  them  fearsome  an'  gigantic 
mamuels  was  aboundin'  in  the  dawn  of  creation,  the 
public  missed  the  greatest  show  on  earth — by  a  few 
million  years!" 

We  nodded  sleepily  but  gravely. 

Byram  appeared  to  have  recovered  something  of  his 
buoyancy  and  native  optimism. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "let's  kinder  saunter  over  to 
the  inn  and  have  a  night-cap  with  Kelly  Eyre." 

This  unusual  and  expensive  suggestion  startled  us 
wide  awake,  but  we  were  only  too  glad  to  acquiesce  in 
anything  which  tended  to  raise  his  spirits  or  ours. 
Dog  tired  but  smiling  we  rose;  Byram,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves and  suspenders,  wearing  his  silk  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  led  the  way,  fanning  his  perspiring 
face  with  a  red-and-yellow  bandanna. 

"Luck,"  said  Byram,  waving  his  cigar  toward  the 
new  moon,  "  is  bound  to  turn  one  way  or  t'other — like 
my  camuel.  Sometimes,  resemblin'  the  camuel,  luck 
will  turn  on  you.  Look  out  it  don't  bite  you.  I  once 
made  up  a  piece  about  luck: 

'"Don't  buck 
Bad  luck 
Or  you'll  get  stuck — ' 

I  disremember  the  rest,  but  it  went  on  to  say  a  few 
other  words  to  that  effec'. " 

The  lighted  door  of  the  inn  hung  ajar  as  we  crossed 
the  star-lit  square ;  Byram  entered  and  stood  a  moment 
in  the  doorway,  stroking  his  chin.  "Bong  joor  the 
company!"  he  said,  lifting  his  battered  hat. 

183 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

The  few  Bretons  in  the  wine  -  room  returned  his 
civility;  he  glanced  about  and  his  eye  fell  on  Kelly 
Eyre,  Speed's  assistant  balloonist,  seated  by  the  win- 
dow with  Horan. 

"  Well,  gents/'  said  Byram,  hopefully,  "  an'  what  aire 
the  prospects  of  srnilin'  fortune  when  rosy  -  fingered 
dawn  has  came  again  to  kiss  us  back  to  life?" 

"Rotten,"  said  Eyre,  pushing  a  telegram  across  the 
oak  table. 

Byram's  face  fell;  he  picked  up  the  telegram  and 
fumbled  in  his  coat  for  his  spectacles  with  unsteady 
hand. 

"Let  me  read  it,  governor,"  said  Speed,  and  took  the 
blue  paper  from  Byram's  unresisting,  stubby  fingers. 

"Oho!"  he  muttered, scanning  the  message;  "well — 
well,  it's  not  so  bad  as  all  that — "  He  turned  abruptly 
on  Kelly  Eyre — "  What  the  devil  are  you  scaring  the 
governor  for?" 

"  Well,  he's  got  to  be  told — I  didn't  mean  to  worry 
him,"  said  Eyre,  stammering,  ashamed  of  his  thought- 
lessness. 

"Now  see  here,  governor,"  said  Speed,  "let's  all 
have  a  drink  first.  He  ma  belle!" — to  the  big  Breton 
girl  knitting  in  the  corner — "four  little  swallows  of 
eau-de-vie,  if  you  please !  Ah,  thank  you,  I  knew  you 
were  from  Bannalec,  where  all  the  girls  are  as  clever 
as  they  are  pretty!  Come,  governor,  touch  glasses! 
There  is  no  circus  but  the  circus,  and  Byram  is  it's 
prophet!  Drink,  gentlemen!" 

But  his  forced  gayety  was  ominous;  we  scarcely 
tasted  the  liqueur.  Byram  wiped  his  brow  and  squared 
his  bent  shoulders.  Speed,  elbows  on  the  table,  sat 
musing  and  twirling  his  half-empty  glass. 

"Well,  sir?"  said  Byram,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Well,  governor?  Oh — er — the  telegram?"  asked 
Speed,  like  a  man  fighting  for  time. 

184 


IN    CAMP 

"Yes,  the  telegram,"  said  Byram,  patiently. 

"  Well,  you  see  they  have  just  heard  of  the  terrible 
smash  -  up  in  the  north,  governor.  Metz  has  surren- 
dered with  Bazaine's  entire  army.  And  they're  natu- 
rally frightened  at  Lorient.  .  .  .  And  I  rather  fear  that 
the  Germans  are  on  their  way  toward  the  coast.  .  .  . 
And  .  .  .  well  .  .  .  they  won't  let  us  pass  the  Lorient 
fortifications." 

"Won't  let  us  in?"  cried  Byram,  hoarsely. 

"I'm  afraid  not,  governor." 

Byram  stared  at  us.  We  had  counted  on  Lorient  to 
pull  us  through  as  far  as  the  frontier. 

"Now  don't  take  it  so  hard,  governor,"  said  Kelly 
Eyre;  "I  was  frightened  myself,  at  first,  but  I'm 
ashamed  of  it  now.  We'll  pull  through,  anyhow." 

"Certainly,"  said  Speed,  cheerily,  "we'll  just  lay  up 
here  for  a  few  days  and  economize.  Why  can't  we  try 
one  performance  here,  Scarlett?" 

"  We  can,"  said  I.  "  We'll  drum  up  the  whole  district 
from  Pontivy  to  Auray  and  from  Penmarch  Point  to 
Plouharnel !  Why  should  the  Breton  peasantry  not 
come?  Don't  they  walk  miles  to  the  Pardons?" 

A  gray  pallor  settled  on  Byram 's  sunken  face;  with 
it  came  a  certain  dignity  which  sorrow  sometimes 
brings  even  to  men  like  him. 

"Young  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I'm  obliged  to  you. 
These  here  reverses  come  to  everybody,  I  guess.  The 
Lord  knows  best ;  but  if  He'll  just  lemme  run  my  show 
a  leetle  longer,  I'll  pay  my  debts  an'  say,  'Thy  will  be 
done,  amen!" 

"We  all  must  learn  to  say  that,  anyway,"  said 
Speed. 

"Mebbe,"  muttered  Byram,  "but  I  must  pay  my 
debts." 

After  a  painful  silence  he  rose,  steadying  himself 
with  his  hand  on  Eyre's  broad  shoulder,  and  shambled 

185 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

out  across  the  square,  muttering  something  about  his 
elephant  and  his  camuel. 

Speed  paid  the  insignificant  bill,  emptied  his  glass, 
and  nodded  at  me. 

"It's  all  up,"  he  said,  soberly. 

"  Let's  come  back  to  camp  and  talk  it  over,"  I  said. 

Together  we  traversed  the  square  under  the  stars, 
and  entered  the  field  of  clover.  In  the  dim,  smoky 
camp  all  lights  were  out  except  one  oil-drenched  torch 
stuck  in  the  ground  between  the  two  tents.  Byram 
had  gone  to  rest,  so  had  Kelly  Eyre.  But  my  lions 
were  awake,  moving  noiselessly  to  and  fro,  eyes  shin- 
ing in  the  dusk ;  and  the  elephant,  a  shapeless  pile  of 
shadow  against  the  sky,  stood  watching  us  with  little, 
evil  eyes. 

Speed  had  some  cigarettes,  and  he  laid  the  pink 
package  on  the  table.  I  lighted  one  when  he  did. 

"Do  you  really  think  there's  a  chance?"  he  asked, 
presently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said. 

"Well,  we  can  try." 

"Oh  yes." 

Speed  dropped  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "Poor  old 
governor,"  he  said. 

Then  he  began  to  talk  of  our  own  prospects,  which 
were  certainly  obscure  if  not  alarming;  but  he  soon 
gave  up  speculation  as  futile,  and  grew  reminiscent, 
recalling  our  first  acquaintance  as  discharged  soldiers 
from  the  African  battalions,  our  hand-to-mouth  exist- 
ence as  gentlemen  farmers  in  Algiers,  our  bankruptcy 
and  desperate  struggle  in  Marseilles,  first  as  dock- 
workmen,  then  as  government  horse -buyers  for  the 
cavalry,  then  as  employes  of  the  Hippodrome  in  Paris, 
where  I  finally  settled  down  as  bareback  rider,  lion- 
tamer,  and  instructor  in  the  haute-e'cole ;  and  he  accepted 
a  salary  as  aid  to  Monsieur  Gaston  Tissandier,  the  sci- 

186 


IN    CAMP 

entist,  who  was  experimenting  with  balloons  at  Saint- 
Cloud. 

He  spoke,  too,  of  our  enlistment  in  the  Imperial  Po- 
lice, and  the  hopes  we  had  of  advancement,  which  not 
only  brought  no  response  from  me,  but  left  us  both 
brooding  sullenly  on  our  wrongs,  crouched  there  over 
the  rough  camp- table  under  the  stars. 

"Oh,  hell!"  muttered  Speed,  "I'm  going  to  bed." 

But  he  did  not  move.  Presently  he  said,  "  How  did 
you  ever  come  to  handle  wild  animals?" 

"I've  always  been  fond  of  animals;  I  broke  colts 
at  home ;  I  had  bear  cubs  and  other  things.  Then,  in 
Algiers,  the  regiment  caught  a  couple  of  lions  and  kept 
them  in  a  cage,  and — well,  I  found  I  could  do  what  I 
liked  with  them." 

"They're  afraid  of  your  eyes,  aren't  they?" 

"  I  don't  know — perhaps  it's  that ;  I  can't  explain  it 
— or,  rather,  I  could  partly  explain  it  by  saying  that  I 
am  not  afraid  of  them.  But  I  never  trust  them." 

"You  drag  them  all  around  the  cage!  You  shove 
them  about  like  sacks  of  meal!" 

"Yes,  ...  but  I  don't  trust  them." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Speed,  "that  your  lions  are 
getting  rather  impudent  these  days.  They're  not  very 
much  afraid  of  you  now." 

"Nor  I  of  them,"  I  said,  wearily;  "I'm  much  more 
anxious  about  you  when  you  go  sailing  about  in  that 
patched  balloon  of  yours.  Are  you  never  nervous?" 

"Nervous?    When?" 

"When  you're  up  there?" 

"Rubbish." 

"Suppose  the  patches  give  way?" 

"  I  never  think  of  that,"  he  said,  leaning  on  the  table 
with  a  yawn.  "Oh,  Lord,  how  tired  I  am!  .  .  .  but  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  sleep.  I'm  actually  too  tired  to 
sleep.  Have  you  got  a  pack  of  cards,  Scarlett?  or  a 

187 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

decent  cigar,  or  a  glass  of  anything,  or  anything  tv 
show  me  more  amusing  than  that  nightmare  of  an 
elephant?  Oh,  I'm  sick  of  the  whole  business — sick! 
sick!  The  stench  of  the  tan -bark  never  leaves  my 
nostrils  except  when  the  odor  of  fried  ham  or  of  that 
devilish  camel  replaces  it. 

"  I'm  too  old  to  enjoy  a  gypsy  drama  when  it's  acted 
by  myself;  I'm  tired  of  trudging  through  the  world 
with  my  entire  estate  in  my  pocket.  I  want  a  home, 
Scarlett.  Lord,  how  I  envy  people  with  homes!" 

He  had  been  indulging  in  this  outburst  with  his  back 
partly  turned  toward  me.  I  did  not  say  anything,  and, 
after  a  moment,  he  looked  at  me  over  his  shoulder  to 
see  how  I  took  it. 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  home,  too,"  I  said. 

"  I  suppose  homes  are  not  meant  for  men  like  you  and 
me,"  he  said.  "Lord,  how  I  would  appreciate  one, 
though  —  anything  with  a  bit  of  grass  in  the  yard 
and  a  shovelful  of  dirt  —  enough  to  grow  some  damn 
flower,  you  know.  .  .  .  Did  you  smell  the  posies  in 
the  square  to-night?  .  .  .  Something  of  that  kind, 
.  .  .  anything,  Scarlett — anything  that  can  be  called 
a  home!  .  .  .  But  you  can't  understand." 

"Oh  yes,  I  can,"  I  said. 

He  went  on  muttering,  half  to  himself:  "We're  of 
the  same  breed — pariahs;  fortunately,  pariahs  don't 
last  long,  .  .  .  like  the  wild  creatures  who  never  die 
natural  deaths,  .  .  .  old  age  is  one  of  the  curses  they 
can  safely  discount,  .  .  .  and  so  can  we,  Scarlett,  so 
can  we.  .  .  .  For  you'll  be  mauled  by  a  lion  or  kicked 
into  glory  by  a  horse  or  an  ox  or  an  ass,  .  .  .  and  I'll 
fall  off  a  balloon,  ...  or  the  camel  will  give  me  tetanus, 
or  the  elephant  will  get  me  in  one  way  or  another,  .  .  . 
or  something.  ..." 

Again  he  twisted  around  to  look  at  me.  "Funny, 
isn't  it?" 

188 


IN    CAMP 

"Rather  funny/'  I  said,  listlessly. 

He  leaned  over,  pulled  another  cigarette  from  the 
pink  packet,  broke  a  match  from  the  card,  and  light- 
ed it. 

"I  feel  better/'  he  observed. 

I  expressed  sleepy  gratification  . 

"  Oh  yes,  I'm  much  better.  T  lis  isn't  a  bad  life,  is 
it?" 

"Oh  no!"  I  said,  sarcastically. 

"  No,  it's  all  right,  and  we've  got  to  pull  the  poor  old 
governor  through  and  give  a  jolly  good  show  here  and 
start  the  whole  country  toward  the  tent  door!  Eh?" 

"Certainly.     Don't  let  me  detain  you." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "if  we  only  had  that 
poor  little  girl,  Miss  Claridge,  we'd  catch  these  Bretons. 
That's  what  took  the  coast -folk  all  over  Europe,  so 
Grigg  says." 

Miss  Claridge  had  performed  in  a  large  glass  tank 
as  the  "Leaping  Mermaid."  It  took  like  wildfire  ac- 
cording to  our  fellow-performers.  We  had  never  seen 
her;  she  was  killed  by  diving  into  her  tank  when  the 
circus  was  at  Antwerp  in  April. 

"Can't  we  get  up  something  like  that?"  I  suggested, 
hopelessly. 

"Who  would  do  it?  Miss  Claridge 's  fish-tights  are 
in  the  prop-box;  who's  to  wear  them?" 

He  began  to  say  something  else,  but  stopped  sud- 
denly, eyes  fixed.  We  were  seated  nearly  opposite  each 
other,  and  I  turned  around,  following  the  direction  of 
his  eyes. 

Jacqueline  stood  behind  me  in  the  smoky  light  of  the 
torch — Jacqueline,  bare  of  arm  and  knee,  with  her  sea- 
blue  eyes  very  wide  and  the  witch -locks  clustering 
around  the  dim  oval  of  her  face.  After  a  moment's 
absolute  silence  she  said :  "  I  came  from  Paradise. 
Don't  you  remember?" 

389 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"From  Paradise?"  said  Speed,  smiling;  "I  thought 
it  might  be  from  elf-land." 

And  I  said :  "  Of  course  I  remember  you,  Jacqueline. 
And  I  have  an  idea  you  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

There  was  another  silence. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  asked  Speed. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jacqueline,  gravely. 

She  seated  herself  on  a  sack  of  sawdust,  clasping 
her  slender  hands  between  her  knees,  and  looked 
earnestly  at  the  elephant. 

"He  won't  harm  you,"  I  assured  her. 

"  If  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  that,"  she  said,  "  you  are 
mistaken,  Monsieur  Scarlett." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  afraid  of  anything,"  observed 
Speed,  smiling;  "but  I  know  you  are  capable  of  as- 
tonishment." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?"  demanded  the  girl. 

"  Because  I  saw  you  with  your  drum  on  the  high-road 
when  we  came  past  Paradise.  Your  eyes  were  similar 
to  saucers,  and  your  mouth  was  not  closed,  Made- 
moiselle Jacqueline." 

"Oh — pour  ca — yes,  I  was  astonished,"  she  said. 
Then,  with  a  quick,  upward  glance :  "  Were  you  riding, 
in  armor,  on  a  horse?" 

"No,"  said  Speed  ;  "I  was  on  that  elephant's  head." 

This  appeared  to  make  a  certain  impression  on  Jacque- 
line. She  became  shyer  of  speech  for  a  while,  until  he 
asked  her,  jestingly,  why  she  did  not  join  the  circus. 

"It  is  what  I  wish,"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

"And  ride  white  horses?" 

"Will  you  take  me?"  she  cried,  passionately,  spring- 
ing to  her  feet. 

Amazed  at  her  earnestness,  I  tried  to  explain  that 
such  an  idea  was  out  of  the  question.  She  listened 
anxiously  at  first,  then  her  eyes  fell  and  she  stood 
there  in  the  torch-light,  head  hanging. 

190 


IN    CAMP 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  Speed,  kindly,  "  that  it  takes 
years  of  practice  to  do  what  circus  people  do?  And  the 
life  is  not  gay,  Jacqueline ;  it  is  hard  for  all  of  us.  We 
know  what  hunger  means ;  we  know  sickness  and  want 
and  cold.  Believe  me,  you  are  happier  in  Paradise  than 
we  are  in  the  circus." 

"It  may  be,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  he  insisted. 

"But,"  she  flashed  out,  "I  would  rather  be  unhappy 
in  the  circus  than  happy  in  Paradise!" 

He  protested,  smiling,  but  she  would  have  her 
way. 

"  I  once  saw  a  man,  in  spangles,  turning,  turning, 
and  ever  turning  upon  a  rod.  He  was  very  far  away, 
and  that  was  very  long  ago — at  the  fair  in  Bannalec. 
But  I  have  not  forgotten!  No,  monsieur!  In  our  net- 
.shed  I  also  have  fixed  a  bar  of  wood,  and  on  it  I  turn, 
turn  continually.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  twisting.  I 
can  place  my  legs  over  my  neck  and  cross  my  feet  under 
my  chin.  Also  I  can  stand  on  both  hands,  and  I  can 
throw  scores  of  handsprings — which  I  do  every  morning 
upon  the  beach — I,  Jacqueline!" 

She  was  excited;  she  stretched  out  both  bare  arms 
as  though  preparing  to  demonstrate  her  ability  then 
and  there. 

"I  should  like  to  see  a  circus,"  she  said.  "Then  I 
should  know  what  to  do.  That  I  can  swing  higher 
than  any  girl  in  Paradise  has  been  demonstrated  often," 
she  went  on,  earnestly.  "I  can  swim  farther,  I  can 
dive  deeper,  I  can  run  faster,  with  bare  feet  or  with 
sabots,  than  anybody,  man  or  woman,  from  the  Beacon 
to  Our  Lady's  Chapel !  At  bowls  the  men  will  not  allow 
me  because  I  have  beaten  them  all,  monsieur,  even  the 
mayor,  which  he  never  forgave.  As  for  the  farandole, 
I  tire  last  of  all  —  and  it  is  the  biniou  who  cries  out  for 
mercy!" 

191 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

She  laughed  and  pushed  back  her  hair,  standing 
straight  up  in  the  yellow  radiance  like  a  moor-sprite. 
There  was  something  almost  unearthly  in  her  lithe 
young  body  and  fearless  sea-blue  eyes,  sparkling  from 
the  shock  of  curls. 

"So  you  can  dive  and  swim?"  asked  Speed,  with  a 
glance  at  me. 

"Like  the  salmon  in  the  Laita,  monsieur." 

"Under  water?" 

"Parbleu!" 

After  a  pause  I  asked  her  age. 

"Fifteen,  M'sieu  Scarlett." 

"You  don't  look  thirteen,  Jacqueline." 

"  I  think  I  should  grow  faster  if  we  were  not  so  poor," 
she  said,  innocently. 

"You  mean  that  you  don't  get  enough  to  eat?" 

"Not  always,  m'sieu.  But  that  is  so  with  every- 
body except  the  wealthy." 

"Suppose  we  try  her,"  said  Speed,  after  a  silence. 
"You  and  I  can  scrape  up  a  little  money  for  her  if 
worst  comes  to  worst." 

"How  about  her  father?" 

"You  can  see  him.     What  is  he?" 

"A  poacher,  I  understand." 

"  Oh,  then  it's  easy  enough.  Give  him  a  few  francs. 
He'll  take  the  child's  salary,  anyway,  if  this  thing 
turns  out  well." 

"Jacqueline,"  I  said,  "we  can't  afford  to  pay  you 
much  money,  you  know." 

"Money?"  repeated  the  child,  vacantly.  "Money! 
If  I  had  my  arms  full — so! — I  would  throw  it  into 
the  world — so!" — she  glanced  at  Speed — "reserving 
enough  for  a  new  skirt,  monsieur,  of  which  I  stand 
in  some  necessity." 

The  quaint  seriousness,  the  resolute  fearlessness  of 
this  little  maid  of  Paradise  touched  us  both,  I  think, 

192 


IN    CAMP 

as  she  stood  there  restlessly,  balancing  on  her  slim 
bare  feet,  finger-tips  poised  on  her  hips. 

"Won't  you  take  me?"  she  asked,  sweetly. 

"  Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Jacqueline,"  said  I.  "  Very 
early  in  the  morning  I'll  go  down  to  your  house  and 
see  your  father.  Then,  if  he  makes  no  objection,  I'll 
get  you  to  put  on  a  pretty  swimming-suit,  all  made  out 
of  silver  scales,  and  you  can  show  me,  there  in  the  sea, 
how  you  can  dive  and  swim  and  play  at  mermaid. 
Does  that  please  you?" 

She  looked  earnestly  at  me,  then  at  Speed. 

"Is  it  a  promise?"  she  asked,  in  a  quivering  voice. 

"Yes,  Jacqueline." 

"  Then  I  thank  you,  M'sieu  Scarlett,  .  .  .  and  you, 
m'sieur,  who  ride  the  elephant  so  splendidly.  .  .  . 
And  I  will  be  waiting  for  you  when  you  come.  .  .  . 
We  live  in  the  house  below  the  Saint- Julien  Light.  .  .  . 
My  father  is  pilot  of  the  port.  .  .  .  Anybody  will  tell 
you."  .  .  . 

"I  will  not  forget,"  said  I. 

She  bade  us  good- night  very  prettily,  stepped  back 
out  of  the  circle  of  torch-light,  and  vanished — there 
is  no  other  word  for  it. 

"  Gracious,"  said  Speed,  "  wasn't  that  rather  sudden? 
Or  is  that  the  child  yonder?  No,  it's  a  bush.  Well, 
Scarlett,  there's  an  uncanny  young  one  for  you — no, 
not  uncanny,  but  a  spirit  in  its  most  delicate  sense. 
I've  an  idea  she's  going  to  find  poor  Byram's  lost  luck 
for  him." 

"Or  break  her  neck,"  I  observed. 

Speed  was  quiet  for  a  long  while. 

"By-the-way,"  he  said,  at  last,  "are  you  going  to 
tell  the  Countess  about  that  fellow  Buckhurst?" 

"I  sent  a  note  to  her  before  I  fed  my  lions,"  I  replied. 

"Are  you  going  to  see  her?" 

"If  she  desires  it." 

•3  193 


THE   MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Who  took  the  note,  Scarlett?" 

"Jacqueline's  father,  .  .  .  that  Lizard  fellow/' 

"  Well,  don't  let's  stir  up  Buckhurst  now, "said  Speed. 
"Let's  do  what  we  can  for  the  governor  first." 

"  Of  course,"  said  I.  "  And  I'm  going  to  bed.  Good- 
night." 

"Good-night,"  said  Speed,  thoughtfully.  "I'll  join 
you  in  a  moment." 

When  I  was  ready  for  bed  and  stood  at  the  tent  door, 
peering  out  into  the  darkness,  I  saw  Speed  curled  up  on 
a  blanket  between  the  elephant's  forefeet,  sound  asleep. 


xn 

JACQUELINE 

THE  stars  were  still  shining  when  I  awoke  in  my 
blanket,  lighted  a  candle,  and  stepped  into  the 
wooden  tub  of  salt-water  outside  the  tent. 

I  shaved  by  candle-light,  dressed  in  my  worn  riding- 
breeches  and  jacket,  then,  candle  in  hand,  began  grop- 
ing about  among  the  faded  bits  of  finery  and  tarnished 
properties  until  I  found  the  silver  -  scaled  swimming- 
tights  once  worn  by  the  girl  of  whom  we  had  heard  so 
much. 

She  was  very  young  when  she  leaped  to  her  death 
in  Antwerp — a  slim  slip  of  a  creature,  they  said — so  I 
thought  it  likely  that  her  suit  might  fit  Jacqueline. 

The  stars  had  begun  to  fade  when  I  stepped  out 
through  the  dew-soaked  clover,  carrying  in  one  hand  a 
satchel  containing  the  swimming  -  suit,  in  the  other 
a  gun-case,  in  which,  carefully  oiled  and  doubly  cased 
in  flannel,  reposed  my  only  luxury — my  breech-loading 
shot-gun. 

The  silence,  intensified  by  the  double  thunder  of  the 
breakers  on  the  sands,  was  suddenly  pierced  by  a  far 
cock-crow;  vague  gray  figures  passed  across  the  square 
as  I  traversed  it;  a  cow-bell  tinkled  near  by,  and  I 
smelt  the  fresh-blown  wind  from  the  downs. 

Presently,  as  I  turned  into  the  cliff-path,  I  saw  a 
sober  little  Breton  cow  plodding  patiently  along  ahead ; 
beside  her  moved  a  fresh -faced  maid  of  Paradise  in 

195 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

snowy  collarette  and  white-winged  head-dress,  knitting 
as  she  walked,  fair  head  bent. 

As  I  passed  her  she  glanced  up  with  tear -dimmed 
eyes,  murmuring  the  customary  salutation:  "Bon- 
jour  d'ac'h,  m'sieu!"  And  I  replied  in  the  best  patois 
I  could  command:  "Bonjour  d'ec'h  a  laran,  na  oeled 
Ket!  Why  do  you  cry,  mademoiselle?" 

"  Cry,  m'sieu?  They  are  taking  the  men  of  Paradise 
to  the  war.  France  must  know  how  cruel  she  is  to 
take  our  men  from  us." 

We  had  reached  the  green  crest  of  the  plateau;  the 
girl  tethered  her  diminutive  cow,  sat  down  on  a  half- 
imbedded  stone,  and  continued  her  knitting,  crying 
softly  all  the  while. 

I  asked  her  to  direct  me  to  the  house  where  Robert, 
the  Lizard,  lived ;  she  pointed  with  her  needles  to  a  large 
stone  house  looming  up  in  the  gray  light,  built  on  the 
rocks  just  under  the  beacon.  It  was  white  with  sea- 
slime  and  crusted  salt,  yet  heavily  and  solidly  built  as 
a  fort,  and  doubtless  very  old,  judging  from  the  traces 
of  sculptured  work  over  portal  and  windows. 

I  had  scarcely  expected  to  find  the  ragged  Lizard  and 
more  ragged  Jacqueline  housed  in  such  an  anciently 
respectable  structure,  and  I  said  so  to  the  girl  beside  me. 

"The  house  is  bare  as  the  bones  of  Sainte-Anne," 
she  said.  "  There  is  nothing  within — not  even  crumbs 
enough  for  the  cliff-rats,  they  say." 

So  I  went  away  across  the  foggy,  soaking  moorland, 
carrying  my  gun  and  satchel  in  their  cases,  descended 
the  grassy  cleft,  entered  a  cattle-path,  and  picked  my 
way  across  the  wet,  black  rocks  toward  the  abode  of 
the  poacher. 

The  Lizard  was  standing  on  his  doorsill  when  I 
came  up;  he  returned  my  greeting  sullenly,  his  keen 
eyes  of  a  sea-bird  roving  over  me  from  head  to  foot. 
A  rumpled  and  sulky  yellow  cat,  evidently  just  awake, 

196 


JACQUELINE 

sat  on  the  doorstep  beside  him  and  yawned  at  intervals. 
The  pair  looked  as  though  they  had  made  a  night  of  it. 

"You  took  my  letter  last  night?"  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Was  there  an  answer  for  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Couldn't  you  have  come  to  the  camp  and  told  me?" 

"I  could,  but  I  had  other  matters  to  concern  me," 
he  replied.  "Here's  your  letter,"  and  he  fished  it  out 
of  his  tattered  pocket. 

I  was  angry  enough,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  anger 
him  at  that  moment.  So  I  took  the  letter  and  read  it 
— a  formal  line  saying  the  Countess  de  Vassart  would 
expect  me  at  five  that  afternoon. 

"You  are  not  noted  for  your  courtesy,  are  you?" 
I  inquired,  smiling. 

Something  resembling  a  grin  touched  his  sea-scarred 
visage. 

"Oh,  I  knew  you'd  come  for  your  answer,"  he  said, 
coolly. 

"Look  here,  Lizard,"  I  said,  "I  intend  to  be  friends 
with  you,  and  I  mean  to  make  you  look  on  me  as  a 
friend.  It's  to  my  advantage  and  to  yours." 

"To  mine?"  he  inquired,  sneeringly,  amused. 

"And  this  is  the  first  thing  I  want,"  I  continued; 
and  without  further  preface  I  unfolded  our  plans  con- 
cerning Jacqueline. 

"Entendu,"  he  said,  drawling  the  word,  "is  that 
all?" 

"Do  you  consent?" 

"Is  that  all?"  he  repeated,  with  Breton  obstinacy. 

"No,  not  all.  I  want  you  to  be  my  messenger  in 
time  of  need.  I  want  you  to  be  absolutely  faithful  to 
me." 

"Is  that  all?"  he  drawled  again. 

"Yes,  that  is  all." 

197 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

"And  what  is  there  in  this,  to  my  advantage, 
m'sieu?" 

"This,  for  one  thing/'  I  said,  carelessly,  picking 
up  my  gun-case.  I  slowly  drew  out  the  barrels  of 
Damascus,  then  the  rose-wood  stock  and  fore-end, 
assembling  them  lovingly ;  for  it  was  the  finest  weapon 
I  had  ever  seen,  and  it  was  breaking  my  heart  to  give 
it  away. 

The  poacher's  eyes  began  to  glitter  as  I  fitted  the 
double  bolts  and  locked  breech  and  barrel  with  the 
extension  rib.  Then  I  snapped  on  the  fore-end;  and 
there  lay  the  gun  in  my  hands,  a  fowling-piece  fit  for 
an  emperor. 

"Give  it?"  muttered  the  poacher,  huskily. 

"Take  it,  my  friend  the  Lizard,"  I  replied,  smiling 
down  the  wrench  in  my  heart. 

There  was  a  silence;  then  the  poacher  stepped 
forward,  and,  looking  me  square  in  the  eye,  flung  out 
his  hand.  I  struck  my  open  palm  smartly  against  his, 
in  the  Breton  fashion;  then  we  clasped  hands. 

"You  mean  honestly  by  the  little  one?" 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "strike  palms  by  Sainte  Thekla  of 
Yc6ne!" 

We  struck  palms  heavily. 

"She  is  a  child,"  he  said;  "there  is  no  vice  in  her; 
yet  I've  seen  them  nearly  finished  at  her  age  in  Paris." 
And  he  swore  terribly  as  he  said  it. 

We  dropped  hands  in  silence;  then,  "Is  this  gun 
mine?"  he  demanded,  hoarsely. 

"Yes." 

"Strike!"  he  cried;  "take  my  friendship  if  you  want 
it,  on  this  condition — what  I  am  is  my  own  concern, 
not  yours.  Don't  interfere,  m'sieu;  it  would  be  use- 
less. I  should  never  betray  you,  but  I  might  kill  you. 
Don't  interfere.  But  if  you  care  for  the  good-will  of  a 
man  like  me,  take  it ;  and  when  you  desire  a  service 

198 


JACQUELINE 

from  me,  tell  me,  and  I  '11  not  fail  you,  by  Sainte-Eline 
of  Paradise!" 

"  Strike  palms,"  said  I,  gravely;  and  we  struck  palms 
thrice. 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  kicking  off  his  sabots  on  the 
doorsill.  "Break  bread  with  me;  I  ask  it,"  he  said, 
gruffly,  and  stalked  before  me  into  the  house. 

The  room  was  massive  and  of  noble  proportion,  but 
there  was  scarcely  anything  in  it — a  stained  table,  a 
settle,  a  little  pile  of  rags  on  the  stone  floor — no,  not 
rags,  but  Jacqueline's  clothes! — and  there  at  the  end 
of  the  great  chamber,  built  into  the  wall,  was  the  ancient 
Breton  bed  with  its  Gothic  carving  and  sliding  panels 
of  black  oak,  carved  like  the  lattice-work  in  a  chapel 
screen. 

Outside  dawn  was  breaking  through  a  silver  shoal 
of  clouds;  already  its  slender  tentacles  of  light  were 
probing  the  shadows  behind  the  lattice  where  Jacque- 
line lay  sleeping. 

From  the  ashes  on  the  hearth  a  spiral  of  smoke 
curled.  The  yellow  cat  walked  in  and  sat  down,  con- 
templating the  ashes. 

Slowly  a  saffron  light  rilled  the  room;  Jacqueline 
awoke  in  the  dim  bed. 

She  pushed  the  panels  aside  and  peered  out,  her 
sea-blue  eyes  heavy  with  slumber. 

"Ma  dou6!"  she  murmured;  "it  is  M'sieu  Scarlett! 
Aie!  Aie!  Am  I  a  countess  to  sleep  so  late?  Bon- 
jour,  m'sieu!  Bonjour,  papa!"  She  caught  sight  of 
the  yellow  cat,  "Et  bien  le  bonjour,  Ange  Pitou!" 

She  swathed  herself  in  a  blanket  and  sat  up,  looking 
at  me  sleepily. 

"  You  came  to  see  me  swim,"  she  said. 

"And  I've  brought  you  a  fish's  silver  skin  to  swim 
in,"  I  replied,  pointing  at  the  satchel. 

She  cast  a  swift  glance  at  her  father,  who,  with  the 

199 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

gun  on  his  knees,  sat  as  though  hypnotized  by  the 
beauty  of  its  workmanship.  Her  bright  eyes  fell  on 
the  gun;  she  understood  in  a  flash. 

"Then  you'll  take  me?" 

"If  you  swim  as  well  as  I  hope  you  can." 

"Turn  your  back!"  she  cried. 

I  wheeled  about  and  sat  down  on  the  settle  beside  the 
poacher.  There  came  a  light  thud  of  small,  bare  feet 
on  the  stone  floor,  then  silence.  The  poacher  looked  up. 

"She's  gone  to  the  ocean,"  he  said;  "she  has  the 
mania  for  baths — like  you  English."  And  he  fell  to 
rubbing  the  gunstock  with  dirty  thumb. 

The  saffron  light  in  the  room  was  turning  pink  when 
Jacqueline  reappeared  on  the  threshold  in  her  ragged 
skirt  and  stained  velvet  bodice  half  laced,  with  the 
broken  points  hanging,  carrying  an  armful  of  drift- 
wood. 

Without  a  word  she  went  to  work;  the  driftwood 
caught  fire  from  the  ashes,  flaming  up  in  exquisite 
colors,  now  rosy,  now  delicate  green,  now  violet;  the 
copper  pot,  swinging  from  the  crane,  began  to  steam, 
then  to  simmer. 

"Papa!" 

"De  quoi!'    growled  the  poacher. 

"Were  you  out  last  night?" 

"Dame,  I've  just  come  in." 

"Is  there  anything?" 

The  poacher  gave  me  an  oblique  and  evil  glance, 
then  coolly  answered :  "  Three  pheasant,  two  partridges, 
and  a  sea-trout  in  the  net-shed.  All  are  drawn." 

So  swiftly  she  worked  that  the  pink  light  had  scarcely 
deepened  to  crimson  when  the  poacher,  laying  the  gun 
tenderly  in  the  blankets  of  Jacqueline's  tumbled  bed, 
came  striding  back  to  the  table  where  a  sea-trout  smoked 
on  a  cracked  platter,  and  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  stood 
before  each  place. 

200 


JACQUELINE 

We  ate  silently.  Ange  Pitou,  the  yellow  cat,  came 
around  with  tail  inflated.  There  were  fishbones  enough 
to  gratify  any  cat,  and  Ange  Pitou  made  short  work  of 
them. 

The  poacher  bolted  his  food,  sombre  eyes  brooding 
or  stealing  across  the  room  to  the  bed  where  his  gun 
lay.  Jacqueline,  to  my  amazement,  ate  as  daintily 
as  a  linnet,  yet  with  a  fresh,  hearty  unconsciousness 
that  left  nothing  in  her  bowl  or  wooden  spoon. 

"Schist?"  inquired  the  poacher,  lifting  his  tired  eyes 
to  me.  I  nodded.  So  he  brought  a  jug  of  cold,  sweet 
cider,  and  we  all  drank  long  and  deeply,  each  in  turn 
slinging  the  jug  over  the  crooked  elbow. 

The  poacher  rose,  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand,  and  made  straight  for  his  new  gun. 

"You  two,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm,  "you 
settle  it  among  yourselves.  Jacqueline,  is  it  true  that 
Le  Bihan  saw  woodcock  dropping  into  the  fen  last 
night?" 

"He  says  so." 

"He  is  not  a  liar — usually/'  observed  the  poacher. 
He  touched  his  beret  to  me,  flung  the  fowling-piece  over 
his  shoulder,  picked  up  a  canvas  bag  in  which  I  heard 
cartridges  rattling,  stepped  into  his  sabots,  and  walked 
away.  In  a  few  moments  the  hysterical  yelps  of  a  dog, 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  a  hunt,  broke  out  from  the 
net-shed. 

Jacqueline  placed  the  few  dishes  in  a  pan  of  hot 
water,  wiped  her  ringers,  daintily,  and  picked  up  Ange 
Pitou,  who  promptly  acknowledged  the  courtesy  by 
bursting  into  a  crackling  purring. 

"Show  me  the  swimming-suit,"  she  said,  shyly. 

I  drew  it  out  of  the  satchel  and  laid  it  across  my  knees. 

"  Oh,  it  has  a  little  tail  behind — like  a  fish !"  she  cried, 
enchanted.  "I  shall  look  like  the  silver  grilse  of 
QuimperleT' 

201 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Do  you  think  you  can  swim  in  those  scales?"  I 
asked. 

"Swim?  I  —  Jacqueline?  Attendez  un  peu — you 
shall  see!" 

She  laughed  an  excited,  confident  little  laugh  and 
hugged  Ange  Pitou,  who  closed  his  eyes  in  ecstasy 
sheathing  and  unsheathing  his  sharp  claws. 

"It  is  almost  sunrise/'  I  said. 

"It  lacks  many  minutes  to  sunrise,"  she  replied. 
"Ask  Ange  Pitou.  At  sunrise  he  leaves  me;  nothing 
can  hold  him ;  he  does  not  bite  or  scratch,  he  just  pushes 
and  pulls  until  my  arms  are  tired.  Then  he  goes. 
It  is  always  so." 

"Why  does  he  do  that?" 

"  Ask  him.  I  have  often  asked,  but  he  never  tells 
me — do  you,  my  friend?  I  think  he's  a  moor-sprite 
— perhaps  a  devil.  Do  devils  hate  all  kinds  of 
water?" 

"No,  only  holy  water,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  he's  something  else.  Look!  Look!  He 
is  beginning !  See  him  push  to  get  free,  see  him  drive 
his  furry  head  into  my  hands.  The  sun  is  coming 
up  out  of  the  sea!  It  will  soon  be  here." 

She  opened  her  arms;  the  cat  sprang  to  the  door- 
step and  vanished. 

Jacqueline  looked  at  the  swimming-suit,  then  at  me. 
"Will  you  go  down  to  the  beach,  M'sieu  Scarlett?" 

But  I  had  not  traversed  half  the  strip  of  rock  and 
hard  sand  before  something  flew  past — a  slim,  glitter- 
ing shape  which  suddenly  doubled  up,  straightened 
again,  and  fell  headlong  into  the  thundering  surf. 

The  waves  hurled  her  from  crest  to  crest,  clothing 
her  limbs  in  froth;  the  singing  foam  rolled  her  over 
and  over,  stranding  her  on  bubbling  sands,  until  the 
swell  found  her  again,  lifted  her,  and  tossed  her  sea- 
ward into  the  wide,  white  arms  of  the  breakers. 

202 


JACQUELINE 

Back  to  land  she  drifted  and  scrambled  up  on  the 
beach,  a  slender,  drenched  figure,  glistening  and  flash- 
ing with  every  movement. 

Dainty  of  limb  as  a  cat  in  wet  grass,  she  shook  the 
spray  from  her  fingers  and  scrubbed  each  palm  with 
sand,  then  sprang  again  headlong  into  the  surf ;  there 
was  a  flash,  a  spatter,  and  she  vanished. 

After  a  long,  long  while,  far  out  on  the  water  she 
rose,  floating. 

Now  the  red  sun,  pushing  above  the  ocean's  leaden 
rim,  flung  its  crimson  net  across  the  water.  String 
after  string  of  white-breasted  sea-ducks  beat  to  wind- 
ward from  the  cove,  whirling  out  to  sea ;  the  gray  gulls 
flapped  low  above  the  shoal  and  settled  in  rows  along 
the  outer  bar,  tossing  their  sun-tipped  wings ;  the  black 
cormorant  on  the  cliff  craned  its  hideous  neck,  scanning 
the  ocean  with  restless,  brilliant  eyes. 

Tossed  back  once  more  upon  the  beach  like  an  opales- 
cent shell,  Jacqueline,  ankle-deep  in  foam,  looked  out 
across  the  flaming  waters,  her  drenched  hair  dripping. 

From  the  gorse  on  cliff  and  headland,  one  by  one  the 
larks  shot  skyward  like  amber  rockets,  trafiling  a  shower 
of  melody  till  the  whole  sky  rained  song.  The  crested 
vanneaux,  passing  out  to  sea,  responded  plaintively, 
flapping  their  bronze-green  wings. 

The  girl  twisted  her  hair  and  wrung  it  till  the  last 
salt  drop  had  fallen.  Sitting  there  in  the  sands,  idle 
fingers  cracking  the  pods  of  gilded  sea -weed,  she 
glanced  up  at  me  and  laughed  contentedly.  Pres- 
ently she  rose  and  walked  out  to  a  high  ledge,  mo- 
tioning me  to  follow.  Far  below,  the  sun -lit  water 
shimmered  in  a  shallow  basin  of  silver  sand. 

"Look!"  she  cried,  flinging  her  arms  above  her  head, 
and  dropped  into  space,  falling  like  a  star,  down,  down 
into  the  shallow  sea.  Far  below  I  saw  a  streak  of  liv- 
ing light  shoot  through  the  water — on,  on,  closer  to  the 

203 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

surface  now,  and  at  last  she  fairly  sprang  into  the  air, 
quivering  like  a  gaffed  salmon,  then  fell  back  to  float 
and  clear  her  blue  eyes  from  her  tangled  hair. 

She  gave  me  a  glance  full  of  malice  as  she  landed, 
knowing  quite  well  that  she  had  not  only  won,  but  had 
given  me  a  shock  with  her  long  dive  into  scarce  three 
feet  of  water. 

Presently  she  climbed  to  the  sun-warmed  hillock  of 
sand  and  sat  down  beside  me  to  dry  her  hair. 

A  langouste,  in  his  flaming  scarlet  coat  of  mail, 
passed  through  a  glassy  pool  among  the  rocks,  tread- 
ing sedately  on  pointed  claws;  the  lancons  tunnelled 
the  oozing  beach  under  her  pink  feet,  like  streams 
of  living  quicksilver;  the  big,  blue  sea -crabs  sidled 
off  the  reef,  sheering  down  sideways  into  limpid 
depths.  Landward  the  curlew  walked  in  twos  and 
threes,  swinging  their  long  sickle  bills;  the  sea-swal- 
lows drove  by  like  gray  snow -squalls,  melting  away 
against  the  sky;  a  vitreous  living  creature,  blazing 
with  purest  sapphire  light,  floated  past  under  water. 

Ange  Pitou,  coveting  a  warm  sun-bath  in  the  sand, 
came  wandering  along  pretending  not  to  see  us;  but 
Jacqueline  dragged  him  into  her  arms  for  a  hug,  which 
lasted  until  Ange  Pitou  broke  loose,  tail  hoisted  but 
ears  deaf  to  further  flattery. 

So  Jacqueline  chased  Ange  Pitou  back  across  the 
sand  and  up  the  rocky  path,  pursuing  her  pet  from 
pillar  to  post  with  flying  feet  that  fell  as  noiselessly 
as  the  velvet  pads  of  Ange  Pitou. 

"Come  to  the  net-shed,  if  you  please!"  she  called 
back  to  me,  pointing  to  a  crazy  wooden  structure  built 
above  the  house. 

As  I  entered  the  net -shed  the  child  was  dragging  a 
pile  of  sea-nets  to  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"In  case  I  fall/'  she  said,  coolly. 

"  Better  let  me  arrange  them,  then  "  I  said,  glancing 
204 


JACQUELINE 

up  at  the  improvised  trapeze  which  dangled  under  the 
roof-beams. 

She  thanked  me,  seized  a  long  rope,  and  went  up, 
hand  over  hand.  I  piled  the  soft  nets  into  a  mattress, 
but  decided  to  stand  near,  not  liking  the  arrangements. 

Meanwhile  Jacqueline  was  swinging,  head  down- 
ward, from  her  trapeze.  Her  cheeks  flamed  as  she 
twisted  and  wriggled  through  a  complicated  manoeu- 
vre, which  ended  by  landing  her  seated  on  the  bar  of 
the  trapeze  a  trifle  out  of  breath.  With  both  hands 
resting  on  the  ropes,  she  started  herself  swinging, 
faster,  faster,  then  pretended  to  drop  off  backward, 
only  to  catch  herself  with  her  heels,  substitute  heels 
for  hands,  and  hang.  Doubling  back  on  her  own  body, 
she  glided  to  her  perch  beneath  the  roof,  shook  her 
damp  hair  back,  set  the  trapeze  flying,  and  curled  up 
on  the  bar,  resting  as  fearlessly  and  securely  as  a 
bullfinch  in  a  tree-top. 

Above  her  the  red-and-black  wasps  buzzed  and  crawl- 
ed and  explored  the  sun-scorched  beams.  Spiders 
watched  her  from  their  silken  hammocks,  and  the  tiny 
cliff-mice  scuttled  from  beam  to  beam.  Through  the 
open  door  the  sunshine  poured  a  flood  of  gold  over  the 
floor  where  the  bronzed  nets  were  spread.  Mending 
was  necessary ;  she  mentioned  it,  and  set  herself  swing- 
ing again,  crossing  her  feet. 

"You  think  you  could  drop  from  there  into  a  tank 
of  water?"  I  asked. 

"How  deep?" 

"Say  four  feet." 

She  nodded,  swinging  tranquilly. 

"Have  you  any  fear  at  all,  Jacqueline?" 

"No." 

"You  would  try  whatever  I  asked  you  to  try?" 

"If  I  thought  I  could,"  she  replied,  naively. 

"But  that  is  not  it.  I  am  to  be  your  master.  You 

205 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

must  have  absolute  confidence  in  me  and  obey  orders 
instantly." 

"  Like  a  soldier?" 

"Exactly." 

"Bien." 

"Then  hang  by  your  hands!" 

Quick  as  a  flash  she  hung  above  me. 

"You  trust  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  drop!" 

Down  she  flashed  like  a  falling  meteor.  I  caught  her 
with  that  quick  trick  known  to  all  acrobats,  which  left 
her  standing  on  my  knee. 

"Jump!" 

She  sprang  lightly  to  the  heap  of  nets,  lost  her 
balance,  stumbled,  and  sat  down  very  suddenly.  Then 
she  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed ;  peal  on  peal  of 
deliciously  childish  laughter  rang  through  the  ancient 
net-shed,  until,  overhead,  the  passing  gulls  echoed  her 
mirth  with  querulous  mewing,  and  the  sea-hawk,  tower- 
ing to  the  zenith,  wheeled  and  squealed. 


xni 

FRIENDS 

A^  seven  o'clock  that  morning  the  men  in  the  circus 
camp  awoke,  worried,  fatigued,  vaguely  resentful, 
unusually  profane.  Horan  was  openly  mutinous,  and 
announced  his  instant  departure. 

By  eight  o'clock  a  miraculous  change  had  taken 
place;  the  camp  was  alive  with  scurrying  people,  gal- 
vanized into  hopeful  activity  by  my  possibly  unwarrant- 
ed optimism  and  a  few  judiciously  veiled  threats. 

Clothed  with  temporary  authority  by  Byram,  I  took 
the  bit  between  my  teeth  and  ordered  the  instant  erec- 
tion of  the  main  tents,  the  construction  of  the  ring, 
barriers,  and  benches,  and  the  immediate  renovating 
of  the  portable  tank  in  which  poor  little  Miss  Claridge 
had  met  her  doom. 

I  detailed  Kelly  Eyre  to  Quimperle  with  orders  for 
ten  thousand  crimson  hand -bills;  I  sent  McCadger, 
with  Dawley,  the  bass-drummer,  and  Irwin,  the  cornet- 
tist,  to  plaster  our  posters  from  Pont  Aven  to  Belle  Isle, 
and  I  gave  them  three  days  to  get  back,  and  promised 
them  a  hundred  dollars  apiece  if  they  succeeded  in 
sticking  our  bills  on  the  fortifications  of  Lorient  and 
Quimper,  with  or  without  permission. 

I  sent  Grigg  and  three  exempt  Bretons  to  beat  up 
the  country  from  Gestel  and  Rosporden  to  Pontivy,  clear 
across  to  Quiberon,  and  as  far  east  as  St.  Gildas  Point. 

By  the  standing-stones  of  Carnac,  I  swore  that  I'd 
have  all  Finistere  in  that  tent.  "Governor,"  said  I, 

207 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

41  we  are  going  to  feature  Jacqueline  all  over  Brittany, 
and,  if  the  ladies  object,  it  can't  be  helped !  By-the- 
way,  do  they  object?" 

The  ladies  did  object,  otherwise  they  would  not  have 
been  human  ladies;  but  the  battle  was  sharp  and  de- 
cisive, for  I  was  desperate. 

"It  simply  amounts  to  this,"  I  said:  "Jacqueline 
pulls  us  through  or  the  governor  and  I  land  in  jail. 
As  for  you,  Heaven  knows  what  will  happen  to  you  I 
Penal  settlement,  probably." 

And  I  called  Speed  and  pointed  at  Jacqueline,  sitting 
on  her  satchel,  watching  the  proceedings  with  amiable 
curiosity. 

"  Speed,  take  that  child  and  rehearse  her.  Begin  as 
soon  as  the  tent  is  stretched  and  you  can  rig  the  flying 
trapeze.  Use  the  net,  of  course.  Horan  rehearsed  Miss 
Claridge;  he'll  stand  by.  Miss  Crystal,  your  good-will 
and  advice  I  depend  upon.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Miss  Crystal. 

That  impulsive  reply  broke  the  sullen  deadlock. 

Pretty  little  Mrs.  Grigg  went  over  and  shook  the 
child's  hand  very  cordially  and  talked  broken  French 
to  her;  Miss  Delany  volunteered  to  give  her  some 
"  Christian  clothes  " ;  Mrs.  Horan  burst  into  tears,  com- 
plaining that  everybody  was  conspiring  to  injure  her 
and  her  husband,  but  a  few  moments  later  she  brought 
Jacqueline  some  toast,  tea,  and  fried  eggs,  an  attention 
shyly  appreciated  by  the  puzzled  child,  who  never  before 
had  made  such  a  stir  in  the  world. 

"Don't  stuff  her,"  said  Speed,  as  Mrs.  Horan  en- 
thusiastically trotted  past  bearing  more  toast.  "  Here, 
Scarlett,  the  ladies  are  spoiling  her.  Can  I  take  her 
for  the  first  lesson?" 

Byram,  who  had  shambled  up,  nodded.  I  was  glad 
to  see  him  reassert  his  authority.  Speed  took  the 
by  the  hand,  and  together  they  entered  the  big 
208 


FRIENDS 

white  tent,  which  now  loomed  up  like  a  mammoth 
mushroom  against  the  blue  sky. 

"Governor,"  I  said,  "we're  all  a  bit  demoralized; 
a  few  of  us  are  mutinous.  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  the 
men  see  you  are  game.  This  child  has  got  to  win  out 
for  us.  Don't  worry,  don't  object;  back  me  up  and  let 
me  put  this  thing  through." 

The  old  man  shoved  his  hands  into  his  trousers- 
pockets  and  looked  at  me  with  heavy,  hopeless  eyes. 

"Now  here's  the  sketch  for  the  hand-bill,"  I  said, 
cheerfully,  taking  a  pencilled  memorandum  from  my 
pocket.  And  I  read  : 

"THE  PATRIOTIC  ANTI-PRUSSIAN  REPUBLICAN  CIRCUS, 

MORE   STUPENDOUS,  MORE  GIGANTIC,   MORE 
OVERPOWERING  THAN  EVER! 

GLITTERING,  MARVELLOUS,  SOUL-COMPELLING  f" 

"What's  'soul-compelling'?"  asked  Byram. 

"Anything  you  please,  governor,"  I  said,  and  read 
on  rapidly  until  I  came  to  the  paragraph  concerning 
Jacqueline : 

•THE    WONDER   OF    EARTH    AND    HEAVENJ 

THE  UNUTTERABLY  BEAUTIFUL  FLYING 

MERMAID  I    CAUGHT  ON  THE 

COAST  OF  BRITTANY! 

WHAT  IS  SHE? 

FISH?     BIRD?     HUMAN?     DIVINE? 

WHO  KNOWS? 

THE  SCIENTISTS  OF  FRANCE  DO  NOT  KNOW  II 

THE  SCIENTISTS  OF  THE  WORLD 

ARE  CONFOUNDED! 

IS  SHE 

A  LOST  SOUL 

FROM  THE  SUNKEN  CITY  OF  KER-YS? 

50,000  FRANCS  REWARD  FOR  THE  BRETON  WHO  CAN 

TROVE    THAT    SHE    DID    NOT    COME     STRAIGHT     FROM 

PARADISE  ! !  I" 
-'  209 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"That's  a  damn  good  bill/'  said  Byram,  suddenly. 

He  was  so  seldom  profane  that  I  stared  at  him,  wor- 
ried lest  his  misfortunes  had  unbalanced  him.  Bui 
a  faint,  healthy  color  was  already  replacing  the  pallor 
in  his  loose  cheeks,  a  glint  of  animation  came  into  his 
sunken  eyes.  He  lifted  his  battered  silk  hat,  replaced 
it  at  an  angle  almost  defiant,  and  scowled  at  Horan, 
who  passed  us  sullenly,  driving  the  camel  tentwards 
with  awful  profanity. 

"Don't  talk  such  langwidge  in  my  presence,  Mr. 
Horan,"  he  said,  sharply;  "a  camuel  is  a  camuel,  but 
remember:  'kind  hearts  is  more  than  cornets/  an'  it's 
easier  for  that  there  camuel  to  pass  through  the  eye 
of  a  needle  than  for  a  cussin'  cuss  to  cuss  his  way  into 
Kingdom  Come!" 

Horan,  who  had  betrayed  unmistakable  symptoms 
of  insubordination  that  morning,  quailed  under  the 
flowing  rebuke.  He  was  a  man  of  muscular  strength 
and  meagre  intellect ;  word:  hit  him  like  trip-hammers. 

"  Certainly,  governor/'  he  stammered,  and  spoke  to 
the  camel  politely,  guiding  that  enraged  and  squealing 
quadruped  to  his  manger  with  a  forced  smile. 

With  mallet,  hammer,  saw,  and  screw-driver  I  worked 
until  noon,  maturing  my  plans  all  the  while.  These 
plans  would  take  the  last  penny  in  the  treasury  and 
leave  us  in  debt  several  thousand  francs.  But  it  was 
win  or  go  to  smash  now,  and  personally  I  have  always 
preferred  a  tremendous  smash  to  a  slow  and  oozy  fizzle. 

A  big  pot  of  fragrant  soup  was  served  to  the  company 
at  luncheon ;  and  it  amused  me  to  see  Jacqueline  troop 
into  the  tent  with  the  others  and  sit  down  w:i,h  her  bit 
of  bread  and  her  bowl  of  broth. 

She  was  flushed  and  excited,  and  she  talked  to  her 
instructor,  Speed,  all  the  while,  chattering  like  a  linnet 
between  mouthfuls  of  bread  and  broth. 

"How  is  she  getting  on?"  I  called  across  to  Speed. 
210 


FRIENDS 

"The  child  is  simply  startling/'  he  said,  in  English. 
"  She  is  not  afraid  of  anything.  She  and  Miss  Crystal 
have  been  doing  that  hair-raising  '  flying  swing '  with- 
out rehearsal !" 

Jacqueline,  hearing  us  talking  in  English,  turned 
and  stared  at  me,  then  smiled  and  looked  up  sweetly 
at  Speed. 

"  You  seem  to  be  popular  with  your  pupil,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"  She's  a  fine  girl — a  fine,  fearless,  straight-up-and- 
down  girl,"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm. 

Everybody  appeared  to  like  her,  though  how  much 
that  liking  might  be  modified  if  prosperity  returned 
I  was  unable  to  judge. 

Now  all  our  fortunes  depended  on  her.  She  was  not 
a  ballon  d'essai;  she  was  literally  the  whole  show; 
and  if  she  duplicated  the  sensational  success  of  poor 
little  Miss  Claridge,  we  had  nothing  to  fear.  But  her 
troubles  would  then  begin.  At  present,  however,  we 
were  waiting  for  her  to  pull  us  out  of  the  hole  before  we 
fell  upon  her  and  rent  her  professionally.  And  I  use 
that  "  ive  "  not  only  professionally,  but  with  an  attempt 
at  chivalry. 

By  ram's  buoyancy  had  returned  in  a  measure.  He 
sat  in  his  shirt-sleeves  at  the  head  of  the  table,  vigor- 
ously sopping  his  tartine  in  his  soup,  and,  mouth  full, 
leaned  forward,  chewing  and  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion around  him. 

Everybody  knew  it  was  life  or  death  now,  that  each 
one  must  drop  petty  jealousies  and  work  for  the  com- 
mon salvation.  An  artificial  and  almost  feverish  ani- 
mation reigned,  which  I  adroitly  fed  with  alarming  al- 
lusions to  the  rigor  of  the  French  law  toward  foreigners 
and  other  malefactors  who  ran  into  debt  to  French 
subjects  on  the  sacred  soil  of  France.  And,  having 
lived  so  long  in  France  and  in  the  French  possessions, 

211 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

I  was  regarded  as  an  oracle  of  authority  by  these  am- 
bulant professional  people  who  were  already  deadly 
homesick,  and  who,  in  eighteen  months  of  Europe,  had 
amassed  scarcely  a  dozen  French  phrases  among  them 
all. 

"I'll  say  one  thing,"  observed  Byram,  with  dig- 
nity; "if  ever  I  git  out  of  this  darn  continong  with 
my  circus,  I'll  recooperate  in  the  undulatin'  medders 
an'  j'yful  vales  of  the  United  States.  Hereafter  that 
country  will  continue  to  remain  good  enough  for 
me." 

All  applauded  —  all  except  Jacqueline,  who  looked 
around  in  astonishment  at  the  proceedings,  and  only 
smiled  when  Speed  explained  in  French. 

"Ask  maddermoselle  if  she'll  go  home  with  us?" 
prompted  Byram.  "Tell  her  there's  millions  in  it." 

Speed  put  the  question ;  Jacqueline  listened  gravely, 
hesitated,  then  whispered  to  Speed,  who  reddened  a 
trifle  and  laughed. 

Everybody  waited  for  a  moment.  "What  does  she 
say?"  inquired  Byram. 

"Oh,  nothing;  she  talked  nonsense." 

But  Jacqueline's  dignity  and  serene  face  certainly 
contradicted  Speed's  words. 

Presently  Byram  arose,  flourishing  his  napkin. 
"Time's  up!"  he  said,  with  decision,  and  we  all  trooped 
off  to  our  appointed  labors. 

Now  that  I  had  stirred  up  this  beehive  and  set  r. 
swarming  again,  I  had  no  inclination  to  turn  drone. 
Yet  I  remembered  my  note  to  the  Countess  de  Vassart 
and  her  reply.  So  about  four  o'clock  I  made  the  best 
toilet  I  could  in  my  only  other  suit  of  clothes,  and 
walked  out  of  the  bustling  camp  into  the  square,  where 
the  mossy  fountain  splashed  under  the  oaks  and  the 
children  of  Paradise  were  playing.  Hands  joined,  they 
danced  in  a  ring,  singing: 

212 


FRIENDS 

*  Barzig  ha  barzig  a  Goner  i 
Ari  e  mob  roue  gand  daou  PC  dri  " — 

"  Little  minstrel-bard  of  Coneri 

The  son  of  the  King  has  come  with  two  or  three- 
Nay,  with  a  whole  bright  flock  of  paroquets. 
Crimson,  silver,  and  violet." 

And  the  children,  in  their  white  coiffes  and  tiny 
wooden  shoes,  moved  round  and  round  the  circle,  in 
the  middle  of  which  a  little  lad  and  a  little  lass  of  Par- 
adise stood  motionless,  hand  clasping  hand. 

The  couplet  ended,  the  two  children  in  the  middle 
sprang  forward  and  dragged  a  third  child  out  of  the 
circle.  Then  the  song  began  again,  the  reduced  circle 
dancing  around  the  three  children  in  the  middle. 

**  — The  son  of  the  King  has  come  with  two  or  three— 
Nay,  with  a  whole  bright  flock  of  paroquets. 
Crimson,  silver,  and  violet." 

It  was  something  like  a  game  I  had  played  long  ago— 
in  the  age  of  fable — and  I  lingered,  touched  with  home- 
sickness. 

The  three  children  in  the  middle  took  a  fourth  com- 
rade from  the  circle,  crying,  "  Will  you  go  to  the  moon 
or  will  you  go  to  the  stars?" 

"The  moon,"  lisped  the  little  maid,  and  she  was 
led  over  to  the  fountain. 

"The  stars,"  said  the  first  prisoner,  and  was  con- 
ducted to  the  stone  bridge. 

Soon  a  small  company  was  clustered  on  the  bridge, 
another  band  at  the  fountain.  Then,  as  there  were 
no  more  to  dance  in  a  circle,  the  lad  and  lassie  who  had 
stood  in  the  middle  to  choose  candidates  for  the  moon 
and  stars  clasped  hands  and  danced  gayly  across  the 
square  to  the  group  of  expectant  cliildren  at  the  foun- 
tain, crying: 

213 


THE    MAIDS    OF   PARADISE 

"  Baradoz  I    Baradoz  f 
(Paradise  I    Paradise  f) 

and  the  whole  band  charged  on  the  little  group  on  the 
bridge,  shouting  and  laughing,  while  the  unfortunate 
tenants  of  the  supposed  infernal  regions  fled  in  every 
direction,  screaming: 

**  Pater  noster 
Dibi  doub ! 
Dibi  doubf 
Dibi  doub!" 

Their  shouts  and  laughter  still  came  faintly  from  the 
tree-shaded  square  as  I  crossed  the  bridge  and  walked 
out  into  the  moorland  toward  the  sea,  where  I  could 
see  the  sun  gilding  the  headland  and  the  spouting- 
rocks  of  Point  Paradise. 

Over  the  turning  tide  cormorants  were  flying,  now 
wheeling  like  hawks,  now  beating  seaward  in  a  duck- 
like  flight.  I  passed  little,  lonely  pools  on  the  moor, 
from  which  snipe  rose  with  a  startling  squak!  squak! 
and  darted  away  inland  as  though  tempest  blown. 

Presently  a  blue-gray  mass  in  mid-ocean  caught 
my  eye.  It  was  the  island  of  Groix,  and  between  it 
and  Point  Paradise  lay  an  ugly,  naked,  black  shape, 
motionless,  oozing  smoke  from  two  stubby  funnels — 
the  cruiser  Fer-de-Lance  I  So  solidly  inert  lay  the  iron- 
clad that  it  did  not  seem  as  if  she  had  ever  moved  or 
ever  could  move;  she  looked  like  an  imbedded  ledge 
cropping  up  out  of  the  sea. 

Far  across  the  hilly  moorland  the  white  semaphore 
glistened  like  a  gull's  wing — too  far  for  me  to  see  the 
balls  and  cones  hoisted  or  the  bright  signals  glimmer- 
ing along  the  halyards  as  I  followed  a  trodden  path 
winding  south  through  the  gorse.  Then  a  dip  in  the 
moorland  hid  the  semaphore  and  at  the  same  moment 

214 


FRIENDS 

brought  a  house  into  full  view — a  large,  solid  structure 
of  dark  stone,  heavily  Romanesque,  walled  in  by  an 
ancient  buttressed  barrier,  above  which  I  could  see  the 
tree-tops  of  a  fruit-garden. 

The  Chateau  de  Tr£court  was  a  fine  example  of  the 
so  called  "fortified  farm";  it  had  its  moat,  too,  and 
crumbling  wing-walls,  pierced  by  loop-holes  and  over- 
hung with  miniature  battlements.  A  walled  and  loop- 
holed  passageway  connected  the  house  with  another 
stone  enclosure  in  which  stood  stable,  granary,  cattle- 
house,  and  sheepfold,  all  of  stone,  though  the  roofs 
of  these  buildings  were  either  turfed  or  thatched.  And 
over  them  the  weather-vane,  a  golden  Dorado,  swam 
in  the  sunshine. 

One  thing  I  noticed  as  I  crossed  the  unused  moat  on 
a  permanent  bridge :  the  youthful  Countess  no  longer 
denied  herself  the  services  of  servants,  for  I  saw  a 
cloaked  shepherd  and  his  two  wolf-like  and  tailless 
sheep-dogs  watching  the  flock  scattered  over  the 
downs;  and  there  were  at  least  half  a  dozen  farm  ser- 
vants pottering  about  from  stable  to  granary,  and  a 
toothless  porter  to  answer  the  gate-bell  and  pilot  me 
past  the  tiny  loop-holed  lodge -turret  to  the  house. 
There  was  also  a  man,  lying  belly  down  in  the  bracken, 
watching  me ;  and  as  I  walked  into  the  court  I  tried  to 
remember  where  I  had  seen  his  face  before. 

The  entire  front  of  the  house  was  covered  with  those 
splendid  orange-tinted  tea-roses  that  I  had  noticed  in 
Paradise;  thicket  on  thicket  of  clove  -  scented  pinks 
choked  the  flower-beds;  and  a  broad  mat  of  deep- 
tinted  pansies  lay  on  the  lawn,  spread  out  for  all  the 
world  like  a  glorious  Eastern  rug. 

There  was  a  soft  whirring  in  the  air  like  the  sound  of  a 
humming-bird  close  by ;  it  came  from  a  spinning-wheel, 
and  grew  louder  as  a  servant  admitted  me  into  the  house 
and  guided  me  to  a  sunny  room  facing  the  fruit  garden. 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

The  spinner  at  the  wheel  was  singing  in  an  undeC 
tone — singing  a  Breton  "gwerz,"  centuries  old,  ro 
tained  in  memory  from  generation  to  generation : 

"  Woe  to  the  Maids  of  Paradise, 

Yvonne  1 
Twice  have  the  Saxons  landed;  twice! 

Yvonne ! 
Yet  must  Paradise  see  them  thrice! 

Yvonne!  Yvonne!  Marivonik." 

Old  as  were  the  words,  the  melody  was  older — so 
old  and  quaint  and  sweet  that  it  seemed  a  berceuse 
fashioned  to  soothe  the  drowsing  centuries,  lest  the 
memories  of  ancient  wrongs  awake  and  rouse  the  very 
dead  from  their  Gothic  tombs. 

All  the  sad  history  of  the  Breton  race  was  written  in 
every  minor  note;  all  the  mystery,  the  gentleness,  the 
faith  of  the  lost  people  of  Armorica. 

And  now  the  singer  was  intoning  the  "Gwerz  Ar 
Baradoz" —  the  "Complaint  of  Paradise"  —  a  slow, 
thrilling  mis6r^r6,  scarcely  dominating  the  velvet  whir 
of  the  spinning-wheel. 

Suddenly  the  melody  ceased,  and  a  young  Bretonne 
girl  appeared  in  the  doorway,  courtesying  to  me  and 
saying  in  perfect  English  :  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Scarlett;  and  how  do  you  like  my  spinning  songs,  if 
you  please?" 

The  girl  was  Mademoiselle  Sylvia  Elven,  the  mar- 
vellously clever  actress  from  the  Od6on,  the  same  young 
woman  who  had  played  the  Alsacienne  at  La  Trappe, 
as  perfectly  in  voice  and  costume  as  she  now  played 
the  Bretonne. 

"You  need  not  be  astonished  at  all,"  she  said,  calm- 
ly, "  if  you  will  only  reflect  that  my  name  is  Elven, 
which  is  also  the  name  of  a  Breton  town.  Naturally, 
I  am  a  Bretonne  from  Elven,  and  my  own  name  is 

216 


FRIENDS 

Duhamel — Sylvenne  Duhamel.  I  thought  I  ought  to 
tell  you,  so  that  you  would  not  think  me  too  clever 
and  try  to  carry  me  off  on  your  horse  again." 

I  laughed  uncertainly ;  clever  women  who  talk  clev- 
erly always  disturb  me.  Besides,  somehow,  I  felt  she 
was  not  speaking  the  truth,  yet  I  could  not  imagine 
why  she  should  lie  to  me. 

"You  were  more  fluent  to  the  helpless  turkey-girl," 
she  suggested,  maliciously. 

I  had  absolutely  nothing  to  say,  which  appeared  to 
gratify  her,  for  she  dimpled  and  smiled  under  her 
snowy-winged  coiffe,  from  which  a  thick  gold  strand 
of  hair  curled  on  her  forehead — a  sad  bit  of  coquetry 
in  a  Bretonne  from  Elven,  if  she  told  the  truth. 

"I  only  came  to  renew  an  old  and  deeply  valued 
friendship,"  she  said,  with  mock  sentimentality;  "I 
am  going  back  to  my  flax  now." 

However,  she  did  not  move. 

"And,  by-the-way,"  she  said,  languidly,  "is  there 
in  your  intellectual  circus  company  a  young  gentleman 
whose  name  is  Evre?" 

"Kelly  Eyre?   Yes,"  I  said,  sulkily. 

"Ah." 

She  strolled  out  of  the  room,  hesitated,  then  turned 
in  the  doorway  with  a  charming  smile. 

"The  Countess  will  return  from  her  gallop  at  five." 

She  waited  as  though  expecting  an  answer,  but  I 
only  bowed. 

"  Would  you  take  a  message  to  Mistaire  Kelly  Eyre 
for  me?"  she  asked,  sweetly. 

I  said  that  I  would. 

"  Then  please  say  that :  '  On  Sunday  the  book-stores 
are  closed  in  Paris.'  ' 

"Is  that  what  I  am  to  say?" 

"Exactly  that." 

"'Very  well,  mademoiselle." 

217 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Of  course,  if  he  asks  who  told  you — you  may  say 
that  it  was  a  Bretonne  at  Point  Paradise." 

"Nothing  else?" 

"Nothing,  monsieur." 

She  courtesied  and  vanished. 

"Little  minx,"  I  thought,  "what  mischief  are  you 
preparing  now?"  and  I  rested  my  elbow  on  the  window- 
sill  and  gazed  out  into  the  garden,  where  apricot-trees 
and  fig-trees  lined  the  winding  walks  between  beds  of 
old-fashioned  herbs,  anise,  basil,  caraway,  mint,  sage, 
and  saffron. 

Sunlight  lay  warm  on  wall  and  gravel-path;  scarlet 
apples  hung  aloft  on  a  few  young  trees ;  a  pair  of  trim, 
wary  magpies  explored  the  fig-trees,  sometimes  quarrel- 
ling, sometimes  making  common  cause  against  the 
shy  wild-birds  that  twittered  everywhere  among  the 
vines. 

I  fancied,  after  a  few  moments,  that  I  heard  the 
distant  thudding  of  a  horse's  hoofs ;  soon  I  was  sure  of 
it,  and  rose  to  my  feet  expectantly,  just  as  a  flushed 
young  girl  in  a  riding-habit  entered  the  room  and  gave 
me  her  gloved  hand. 

Her  fresh,  breezy  beauty  astonished  me;  could  this 
laughing,  gray-eyed  girl  with  her  silky,  copper-tinted 
hair  be  the  same  slender,  grave  young  Countess  whom 
I  had  known  in  Alsace — this  incarnation  of  all  that  is 
wholesome  and  sweet  and  winning  in  woman?  What 
had  become  of  her  mission  and  the  soiled  brethren  of 
the  proletariat?  What  had  happened? 

I  looked  at  her  earnestlj7',  scarcely  understanding 
that  she  was  saying  she  was  glad  I  had  come,  that  she 
had  waited  for  me,  that  she  had  wanted  to  see  me,  that 
she  had  wished  to  tell  me  how  deeply  our  tragic  ex- 
perience at  La  Trappe  and  in  Morsbronn  had  impressed 
her.  She  said  she  had  sent  a  letter  to  me  in  Paris 
which  was  returned,  opened,  with  a  strange  note  from 

218 


FRIENDS 

Monsieur  Mornac.  She  had  waited  for  some  word 
from  me,  here  in  Paradise,  since  September;  "waited 
impatiently,"  she  added,  and  a  slight  frown  bent  her 
straight  brows  for  a  moment — a  moment  only. 

"  But  come  out  to  my  garden,"  she  said,  smiling,  and 
stripping  off  her  little  buff  gauntlets.  "  There  we  will 
have  tea  a  1'Anglaise,  and  sunshine,  and  a  long,  long, 
satisfying  talk;  at  least  I  will,"  she  added,  laughing 
and  coloring  up;  "for  truly,  Monsieur  Scarlett,  I  do 
not  believe  I  have  given  you  one  second  to  open  your 
lips." 

Heaven  knows  I  was  perfectly  content  to  watch  her 
lips  and  listen  to  the  music  of  her  happy,  breathless 
voice  without  breaking  the  spell  with  my  own. 

She  led  the  way  along  a  path  under  the  apricots  to 
a  seat  against  a  sunny  wall,  a  wall  built  of  massive 
granite,  deeply  thatched  with  fungus  and  lichens, 
where,  palpitating  in  the  hot  sun,  the  tiny  lizards 
lay  glittering,  and  the  scarlet-banded  nettle-butterflies 
flitted  and  hovered  and  settled  to  sun  themselves,  wings 
a-droop. 

Here  in  the  sunshine  the  tea-rose  perfume,  mingling 
with  the  incense  of  the  sea,  mounted  to  my  head  like 
the  first  flush  of  wine  to  a  man  long  fasting ;  or  was  it 
the  enchantment  of  her  youth  and  loveliness — the 
subtle  influence  of  physical  vigor  and  spiritual  in- 
nocence on  a  tired,  unstrung  man? 

"First  of  all,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "I  know  your 
life — all  of  it  in  minute  particular.  Are  you  as- 
tonished?" 

"  No,  madame,"  I  replied ;  "  Mornac  showed  you  my 
dossier." 

"That  is  true/'  she  said,  with  a  troubled  look  of 
surprise. 

I  smiled.  "  As  for  Mornac,"  I  began,  but  she  inter- 
rupted me. 

219 


"  Ah,  Mornac !  Do  you  suppose  I  believed  him ?  Had 
I  not  proof  on  proof  of  your  loyalty,  your  honor,  your 
courtesy,  your  chivalry — " 

"Madame,  your  generosity — and,  I  fear,  your  pity — 
overpraises." 

"No,  it  does  notl  I  know  what  you  are.  Mornac 
cannot  make  white  black!  I  know  what  you  have 
been.  Mornac  could  not  read  you  into  infamy,  even 
with  your  dossier  under  my  own  eyes!" 

"In  my  dossier  you  read  a  sorry  history,  madame." 

"In  your  dossier  I  read  the  tragedy  of  a  gentle- 
man/' 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  that  I  am  now  a  performer 
in  a  third-rate  travelling  circus?" 

"I  think  that  is  very  sad,"  she  said,  sweetly. 

"Sad?  Oh  no.  It  is  better  than  the  disciplinary 
battalions  of  Africa." 

Which  was  simply  acknowledging  that  I  had  served 
a  term  in  prison. 

The  color  faded  in  her  face.  "I  thought  you  were 
pardoned." 

"  I  was  —  from  prison,  not  from  the  battalion  of 
Biribi." 

"I  only  know,"  she  said,  "that  they  say  you  were 
not  guilty;  that  they  say  you  faced  utter  ruin,  even 
the  possibility  of  death,  for  the  sake  of  another  man 
whose  name  even  the  police — even  Monsieur  de  Mornac 
— could  never  learn.  Was  there  such  a  man?" 

I  hesitated.  "  Madame,  there  is  such  a  man ;  /  am 
the  man  who  was." 

"With  no  hope?" 

"Hope?  \Vith  every  hope,"  I  said,  smiling.  "My 
name  is  not  my  own,  but  it  must  serve  me  to  my  end, 
and  I  shall  wear  it  threadbare  and  leave  it  to  no 
one." 

"Is  there  no  hope?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

220 


FRIENDS 

"None  for  the  man  who  was.  Much  for  James 
Scarlett,  tamer  of  lions  and  general  mountebank,"  I 
said,  laughing  down  the  rising  tide  of  bitterness.  Why 
had  she  stirred  those  dark  waters?  I  had  drowned 
myself  in  them  long  since.  Under  them  lay  the  corpse 
of  a  man  I  had  forgotten — my  dead  self. 

"No  hope?"  she  repeated. 

Suddenly  the  ghost  of  all  I  had  lost  rose  before  me 
«vith  her  words — rose  at  last  after  all  these  years,  tower- 
ing, terrible,  free  once  more  to  fill  the  days  with  loath- 
ing and  my  nights  with  hell  eternal,  .  .  .  after  all  these 
years ! 

Overwhelmed,  I  fought  down  the  spectre  in  silence. 
Kith  and  kin  were  not  all  in  the  world ;  love  of  woman 
was  not  all ;  a  chance  for  a  home,  a  wife,  children,  were 
not  all ;  a  name  was  not  all.  Raising  my  head,  a  trifle 
faint  with  the  struggle  and  the  cost  of  the  struggle, 
I  saw  the  distress  in  her  eyes  and  strove  to  smile. 

"There  is  every  hope,"  I  said,  "save  the  hopes  of 
youth — the  hope  of  a  woman's  love,  and  of  that  hap- 
piness which  comes  through  love.  I  am  a  man  past 
thirty,  madame — thirty-five,  I  believe  my  dossier  makes 
it.  It  has  taken  me  fifteen  years  to  bury  my  youth. 
Let  us  talk  of  Mornac." 

"Yes,  we  will  talk  of  Momac,"  she  said,  gently. 

So  with  infinite  pains  I  went  back  and  traced  for 
her  the  career  of  Buckhurst,  sparing  her  nothing;  I 
led  up  to  my  own  appearance  on  the  scene,  reviewed 
briefly  what  we  both  knew,  then  disclosed  to  her  in  its 
most  trivial  detail  the  conference  between  Buckhurst 
and  myself  in  which  his  cynical  avowal  was  revealed 
in  all  its  native  hideousness. 

She  sat  motionless,  her  face  like  cold  marble,  as  I 
carefully  gathered  the  threads  of  the  plot  and  gently 
twitched  that  one  which  galvanized  the  mask  of  Mornac. 

"Mornac!"  she  stammered,  aghast. 

221 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

I  showed  her  why  Buckhurst  desired  to  come  to 
Paradise;  I  showed  her  why  Mornac  had  initiated  her 
^nto  the  mysteries  of  my  dossier,  taking  that  infernal 
precaution,  although  he  had  every  reason  to  believe 
he  had  me  practically  in  prison,  with  the  keys  in  his 
own  pocket. 

"Had  it  not  been  for  my  comrade,  Speed,"  I  said, 
"I  should  be  in  one  of  Mornac 's  fortress  cells.  He 
overshot  the  mark  when  he  left  us  together  and  stepped 
into  his  cabinet  to  spread  my  dossier  before  you.  He 
counted  on  an  innocent  man  going  through  hell  itself 
to  prove  his  innocence;  he  counted  on  me,  and  left 
Soeed  out  of  his  calculations.  He  had  your  testi- 
mony, he  had  my  dossier,  he  had  the  order  for  my 
arrest  in  his  pocket.  .  .  .  And  then  I  stepped  out  of 
sight!  I,  the  honest  fool,  with  my  knowledge  of  his 
infamy,  of  Buckhurst's  complicity  and  purposes — I 
was  gone. 

"And  now  mark  the  irony  of  the  whole  thing:  he 
had,  criminally,  destroyed  the  only  bureau  that  could 
ever  have  caught  me.  But  he  did  his  best  during  the 
few  weeks  that  were  left  him  before  the  battle  of  Sedan. 
After  that  it  was  too  late ;  it  was  too  late  when  the  first 
Uhlan  appeared  before  the  gates  of  Paris.  And  now 
Mornac,  shorn  of  authority,  is  shut  up  in  a  city 
surrounded  by  a  wall  of  German  steel,  through  which 
not  one  single  living  creature  has  penetrated  for  two 
months." 

I  looked  at  her  steadily.  "Eliminate  Momac  as  a 
trapped  rat;  cancel  him  as  a  dead  rat  since  the  ship 
of  Empire  went  down  at  Sedan.  I  do  not  know  what 
has  taken  place  in  Paris — save  what  all  now  know 
that  the  Empire  is  ended,  the  Republic  proclaimed,  and 
the  Imperial  police  a  memory.  Then  let  us  strike  out 
Mornac  and  turn  to  Buckhurst.  Madame,  I  am  here 
to  serve  you." 

222 


FRIENDS 

The  dazed  horror  in  her  face  which  had  marked  my 
revelations  of  Buckhurst's  villanies  gave  place  to  a 
mantling  flush  of  pure  anger.  Shame  crimsoned  her 
neck,  too ;  shame  for  her  credulous  innocence,  her  belief 
in  this  rogue  who  had  betrayed  her,  only  to  receive 
pardon  for  the  purpose  of  baser  and  more  murderous 
betrayal. 

I  said  nothing  for  a  long  time,  content  to  leave  her 
to  her  own  thoughts.  The  bitter  draught  she  was 
draining  could  not  harm  her,  could  not  but  act  as  the 
most  wholesome  of  tonics. 

Hers  was  not  a  weak  character  to  sink,  embittered, 
under  the  weight  of  knowledge — knowledge  of  evil, 
that  all  must  learn  to  carry  lightly  through  life ;  I  had 
once  thought  her  weak,  but  I  had  revised  that  opinion 
and  substituted  the  words  "  pure  in  thought,  inherently 
loyal,  essentially  unsuspicious." 

"Tell  me  about  Buckhurst/'  I  said,  quietly.  "I 
can  help  you,  I  think." 

The  quick  tears  of  humiliation  glimmered  for  a 
second  in  her  angry  eyes;  then  pride  fell  from  her, 
like  a  stately  mantle  which  a  princess  puts  aside,  tired 
and  content  to  rest. 

This  was  a  phase  I  had  never  before  seen — a  lovely, 
natural  young  girl,  perplexed,  troubled,  deeply  wounded, 
ready  to  be  guided,  ready  for  reproof,  perhaps  even  for 
that  sympathy  without  which  reproof  is  almost  valueless. 

She  told  me  that  Buckhurst  came  to  her  house  here 
in  Paradise  early  in  September;  that  while  in  Paris, 
pondering  on  what  I  had  said,  she  had  determined  to 
withdraw  herself  absolutely  from  all  organized  social- 
istic associations  during  the  war;  that  she  believed 
she  could  do  the  greatest  good  by  living  a  natural  and 
cheerful  life,  by  maintaining  the  position  that  birth 
and  fortune  had  given  her,  and  by  using  that  position 
and  fortune  for  the  benefit  of  those  less  fortunate. 

223 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

This  she  had  told  Buckhurst,  and  the  rascal  appeared 
to  agree  with  her  so  thoroughly  that,  when  Dr.  Delmont 
and  Professor  Tavernier  arrived,  they  also  applauded 
Jse  choice  she  made  of  Buckhurst  as  distributer  of 
money,  food,  and  clothing  to  the  provincial  hospitals, 
now  crowded  to  suffocation  with  the  wreck  of  battle. 

Then  a  strange  thing  occurred.  Dr.  Delmont  and 
Professor  Tavernier  disappeared  without  any  explana- 
tion. They  had  started  for  St.  Nazaire  with  a  sum  of 
money — twenty  thousand  francs,  locked  in  the  private 
strong-box  of  the  Countess — to  be  distributed  among 
the  soldiers  of  Chanzy;  and  they  had  never  re- 
turned. 

In  the  light  of  what  she  had  learned  from  me,  she 
feared  that  Buckhurst  had  won  them  over;  perhaps 
not  —  she  could  not  bear  to  suspect  evil  of  such 
men. 

But  she  now  believed  that  Buckhurst  had  used  every 
penny  he  had  handled  for  his  own  purposes ;  that  not 
one  hospital  had  received  what  she  had  sent. 

"I  am  no  longer  wealthy,"  she  said,  anxiously, 
looking  up  at  me.  "  I  did  find  time  in  Paris  to  have 
matters  straightened;  I  sold  La  Trappe  and  paid 
everything.  It  left  me  with  this  house  in  Paradise, 
and  with  means  to  maintain  it  and  still  have  a  few 
thousand  francs  to  give  every  year.  Now  it  is  nearly 
gone — I  don't  know  where.  I  am  dreadfully  unhappy  ; 
I  have  such  a  horror  of  treachery  that  I  cannot  even 
understand  it,  but  this  ignoble  man,  Buckhurst,  is 
assuredly  a  heartless  rascal." 

"But,"  I  said,  patiently,  "you  have  not  yet  told  me 
where  he  is." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  A  week  ago  a  dreadful 
creature  came  here  to  see  Buckhurst ;  they  went  across 
the  moor  toward  the  semaphore  and  stood  for  a  long 
while  looking  at  the  cruiser  which  is  anchored  off  Groix. 

224 


FRIENDS 

Then  Buckhurst  came  back  and  prepared  for  a  jour- 
ney.  He  said  he  was  going  to  Tours  to  confer  with 
the  Red  Cross.  I  don't  know  where  he  went.  He  took 
all  the  money  for  the  general  Red  Cross  fund." 

"  When  did  he  say  he  would  return?" 

"He  said  in  two  weeks.  He  has  another  week 
yet." 

"Is  he  usually  prompt?" 

"Always  so — to  the  minute." 

"That  is  good  news,"  I  said,  gayly.  "But  tell  me 
one  thing:  do  you  trust  Mademoiselle  Elven?" 

"Yes,  indeed! — indeed!"  she  cried,  horrified. 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  smiling.  "Only  for  the  sake 
of  caution — extra,  and  even  perhaps  useless  caution — 
say  nothing  of  this  matter  to  her,  nor  to  any  living  soul 
save  me." 

"I  promise,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  One  thing  more :  this  conspiracy  against  the  state 
no  longer  concerns  me — officially.  Both  Speed  and 
I  did  all  we  could  to  warn  the  Emperor  and  the  Em- 
press ;  we  sent  letters  through  the  police  in  London,  we 
used  the  English  secret-service  to  get  our  letters  into 
the  Emperor's  hand,  we  tried  every  known  method  of 
denouncing  Mornac.  It  was  useless ;  every  letter  must 
have  gone  through  Mornac 's  hands  before  it  reached 
the  throne.  We  did  all  we  dared  do ;  we  were  in  disguise 
and  in  hiding  under  assumed  names;  we  could  not  do 
more. 

"  Now  that  Mornac  is  not  even  a  pawn  in  the  game — 
as,  indeed,  I  begin  to  believe  he  never  really  was,  but 
has  been  from  the  first  a  dupe  of  Buckhurst — it  is  the 
duty  of  every  honest  man  to  watch  Buckhurst  and  warn 
the  authorities  that  he  possibly  has  designs  on  the 
crown  jewels  of  France,  which  that  cruiser  yonder  is 
all  ready  to  bear  away  to  Saigon. 

"  How  he  proposes  to  attempt  such  a  robbery  I  can't 
15  225 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

imagine.  I  don't  want  to  denounce  him  to  General 
Chanzy  or  Aurelles  de  Palladine,  because  the  con- 
spiracy is  too  widely  spread  and  too  dangerous  to  be 
defeated  by  the  capture  of  one  man,  even  though  he 
be  the  head  of  it. 

"  What  I  want  is  to  entrap  the  entire  band ;  and  that 
can  only  be  done  by  watching  Buckhurst,  not  arresting 
him. 

"  Therefore,  madame,  I  have  written  and  despatched 
a  telegram  to  General  Aurelles  de  Palladine,  offering 
my  services  and  the  services  of  Mr.  Speed  to  the  Re- 
public without  compensation.  In  the  event  of  accept- 
ance, I  shall  send  to  London  for  two  men  who  will  do 
what  is  to  be  done,  leaving  me  free  to  amuse  the  pub- 
lic with  my  lions.  Meanwhile,  as  long  as  we  stay  in 
Paradise  we  both  are  your  devoted  servants,  and  we 
beg  the  privilege  of  serving  you." 

During  all  this  time  the  young  Countess  had  never 
moved  her  eyes  from  my  face — perhaps  I  was  flattered 
— perhaps  for  that  reason  I  talked  on  and  on,  pouring 
out  wisdom  from  a  somewhat  attenuated  supply. 

And  I  now  rose  to  take  my  leave,  bowing  my  very 
best  bow;  but  she  sat  still,  looking  up  quietly  at 
me. 

"You  ask  the  privilege  of  serving  me/'  she  said. 
"You  could  serve  me  best  by  giving  me  your  friend- 
ship." 

"You  have  my  devotion,  madame,"  I  said. 

"I  did  not  ask  it.  I  asked  your  friendship — in  all 
frankness  and  equality." 

"  Do  you  desire  the  friendship  of  a  circus  performer?" 
I  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  desire  it,  not  only  for  what  you  are,  but  for  what  you 
have  been — have  always  been,  let  them  say  what  they 
will!" 

I  was  silent. 

226 


FRIENDS 

"Have  you  never  given  women  your  friendship?" 
she  asked. 

"Not  in  fifteen  years — nor  asked  theirs." 

"Will  you  not  ask  mine?" 

I  tried  to  speak  steadily,  but  my  voice  was  uncertain ; 
I  sat  down,  crushed  under  a  flood  of  memories,  hopes 
accursed,  ambitions  damned  and  consigned  to  ob- 
livion. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  I  said.  "  You  are  the  Countess 
de  Vassart.  A  man  is  what  he  makes  himself.  I  have 
made  myself — with  both  eyes  open;  and  I  am  now  an 
acrobat  and  a  tamer  of  beasts.  I  understand  your 
goodness,  your  impulse  to  help  those  less  fortunate 
than  yourself.  I  also  understand  that  I  have  placed 
myself  where  I  am,  and  that,  having  done  so  delib- 
erately, I  cannot  meet  as  friends  and  equals  those 
who  might  have  been  my  equals  if  not  friends.  Be- 
sides that,  I  am  a  native  of  a  paradox — a  Republic 
which,  though  caste -bound,  knows  no  caste  abroad. 
I  might,  therefore,  have  been  your  friend  if  you  had 
chosen  to  waive  the  traditions  of  your  continent  and 
accept  the  traditions  of  mine.  But  now,  madame,  I 
must  beg  permission  to  make  my  adieux." 

She  sprang  up  and  caught  both  my  hands  in  her  un- 
gloved hands.  "Won't  you  take  my  friendship — and 
give  me  yours — my  friend?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  slowly.  The  blood  beat  in  my  tem- 
ples, almost  blinding  me;  my  heart  hammered  in  my 
throat  till  I  shivered. 

As  in  a  dream  I  bent  forward;  she  abandoned  her 
hands  to  me ;  and  I  touched  a  woman's  hands  with  my 
lips  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years. 

"In  all  devotion  and  loyalty  —  and  gratitude,"  I 
said. 

"And  in  friendship — say  it!" 

"In  friendship." 

227 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Now  you  may  go — if  you  desire  to.     When  will  you 
come  again?" 
"When  may  I?" 
"When  you  will." 


XIV 

THE  PATH  OF  THE  LIZARD 

ABOUT  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  an  incident 
occurred  which  might  have  terminated  my  career 
in  one  way,  and  did,  ultimately,  end  it  in  another. 

I  had  been  exercising  my  lions  and  putting  them 
through  their  paces,  and  had  noticed  no  unusual  in- 
subordination among  them,  when  suddenly,  Timour 
Melek,  a  big  Algerian  lion,  flew  at  me  without  the 
slightest  provocation  or  warning. 

Fortunately  I  had  a  training-chair  in  my  hand,  on 
which  Timour  had  just  been  sitting,  and  I  had  time 
to  thrust  it  into  his  face.  Thrice  with  incredible  swift- 
ness he  struck  the  iron-chair,  right,  left,  and  right,  as 
a  cat  strikes,  then  seized  it  in  his  teeth.  At  the  same 
moment  I  brought  my  loaded  whip  heavily  across  his 
nose. 

"Down,  Timour  Melek  I  Down!  down!  down!"  I 
said,  steadily,  accompanying  each  word  with  a  blow 
of  the  whip  across  the  nose. 

The  brute  had  only  hurt  himself  when  he  struck  the 
chair,  and  now,  under  the  blows  raining  on  his  sensitive 
nose,  he  doubtless  remembered  similar  episodes  in  his 
early  training,  and  shrank  back,  nearly  deafening  me 
with  his  roars.  I  followed,  punishing  him,  and  he 
fled  towards  the  low  iron  grating  which  separated  the 
training-cage  from  the  night-quarters. 

This  I  am  now  inclined  to  believe  was  a  mistake  of 

229 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

judgment  on  my  part.  I  should  have  driven  him  into 
a  corner  and  thoroughly  cowed  him,  using  the  training- 
chair  if  necessary,  and  trusting  to  my  two  assistants 
with  their  irons,  who  had  already  closed  up  on  either 
side  of  the  cage. 

I  was  not  in  perfect  trim  that  morning.  Not  that  I 
felt  nervous  in  the  least,  nor  had  I  any  lack  of  self-con- 
fidence, but  I  was  not  myself.  I  had  never  in  my  life 
entered  a  lion-cage  feeling  as  I  did  that  morning — 
an  indifference  which  almost  amounted  to  laziness, 
an  apathy  which  came  close  to  melancholy. 

The  lions  knew  I  was  not  myself — they  had  been 
aware  of  it  as  soon  as  I  set  foot  in  their  cage;  and  I 
knew  it.  But  my  strange  apathy  only  increased  as  I 
went  about  my  business,  perfectly  aware  all  the  time 
that,  with  lions  born  in  captivity,  the  unexpected  is 
always  to  be  expected. 

Timour  Melek  was  now  close  to  the  low  iron  door  be- 
tween the  partitions;  the  other  lions  had  become  un- 
usually excited,  bounding  at  a  heavy  gallop  around 
the  cage,  or  clinging  to  the  bars  like  enormous  cats. 

Then,  as  I  faced  Timour,  ready  to  force  him  back- 
ward through  the  door  into  the  night-quarters,  some- 
thing in  the  blank  glare  of  his  eyes  seemed  to  fascinate 
me.  I  had  an  absurd  sensation  that  he  was  slipping 
away  from  me — escaping;  that  I  no  longer  dominated 
him  nor  had  authority.  It  was  not  panic,  nor  even 
fear ;  it  was  a  faint  paralysis — temporary,  fortunately ; 
for  at  that  instant  instinct  saved  me ;  I  struck  the  lion 
a  terrific  blow  across  the  nose  and  whirled  around, 
chair  uplifted,  just  in  time  to  receive  the  charge  of 
Empress  Khatoun,  consort  of  Timour. 

She  struck  the  iron-bound  chair,  doubling  it  up 
like  crumpled  paper,  hurling  me  headlong,  not  to  the 
floor  of  the  cage,  but  straight  through  the  sliding-bars 
which  Speed  had  just  flung  open  with  a  shout.  As 

230 


THE    PATH   OF    THE    LIZARD 

for  me,  I  landed  violently  on  my  back  in  the  sawdust, 
the  breath  knocked  clean  out  of  me. 

When  I  could  catch  my  breath  again  I  realized  that 
there  was  no  time  to  waste.  Speed  looked  at  me  an- 
grily, but  I  jerked  open  the  grating,  flung  another 
chair  into  the  cage,  leaped  in,  and,  singling  out  Empress 
Khatoun,  I  sailed  into  her  with  passionless  thorough- 
ness, punishing  her  to  a  stand-still,  while  the  other 
lions,  Aicha,  Marghouz,  Timour,  and  Genghis  Khan 
snarled  and  watched  me  steadily. 

As  I  emerged  from  the  cage  Speed  asked  me  whether 
I  was  hurt,  and  I  gasped  out  that  I  was  not. 

"What  went  wrong?"  he  persisted. 

"  Timour  and  that  young  lioness — no,  I  went  wrong; 
the  lions  knew  it  at  once ;  something  failed  me,  I  don't 
know  what ;  upon  my  soul,  Speed,  I  don't  know  what 
happened." 

"  You  lost  your  nerve?" 

"No,  not  that.  Timour  began  looking  at  me  in  a 
peculiar  way — he  certainly  dominated  me  for  an  in- 
stant—  for  a  tenth  of  a  second;  and  then  Khatoun 
flew  at  me  before  I  could  control  Timour — " 

I  hesitated. 

"  Speed,  it  was  one  of  those  seconds  that  come  to  us, 
when  the  faintest  shadow  of  indecision  settles  matters. 
Engineers  are  subject  to  it  at  the  throttle,  pilots  at  the 
helm,  captains  in  battle — " 

"Men  in  love,"  added  Speed. 

I  looked  at  him,  not  comprehending. 

"By -the -way,"  said  Speed,  "Leo  Grammont,  the 
greatest  lion-tamer  who  ever  lived,  once  told  me  that 
a  man  in  love  with  a  woman  could  not  control  lions; 
that  when  a  man  falls  in  love  he  loses  that  intangible, 
mysterious  quality — call  it  mesmerism  or  whatever 
you  like — the  occult  force  that  dominates  beasts.  And 
he  said  that  the  lions  knew  it,  that  they  perceived  it 

231 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

sometimes  even  before  the  man  himself  was  aware  that 
he  was  in  love." 

I  looked  him  over  in  astonishment. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked,  amused. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  I  demanded.  "If 
you  mean  to  intimate  that  I  have  fallen  in  love  you  are 
certainly  an  astonishing  assl" 

"Don't  talk  that  way/'  he  said,  good-humoredly. 
"  I  didn't  dream  of  such  a  thing,  or  of  offending  you, 
Scarlett." 

It  struck  me  at  the  same  moment  that  my  irritable 
and  unwarranted  retort  was  utterly  unlike  me. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  is  the  matter  with  me  to-day.  First  I  quarrel 
with  poor  old  Timour  Melek,  then  I  insult  you.  I've 
discovered  that  I  have  nerves;  I  never  before  knew 
it." 

"Cold  flap-jacks  and  cider  would  have  destroyed 
Hercules  himself  in  time,"  observed  Speed,  following 
with  his  eyes  the  movements  of  a  lithe  young  girl, 
who  was  busy  with  the  hoisting  apparatus  of  the  fly- 
ing trapeze.  The  girl  was  Jacqueline,  dressed  in  a 
mended  gown  of  Miss  Delany's. 

"At  times,"  muttered  Speed,  partly  to  himself,  "that 
little  witch  frightens  me.  There  is  no  risk  she 
dares  not  take;  even  Horan  gets  nervous;  and  when 
that  bull -necked  numbskull  is  scared  there's  reason 
for  it." 

We  walked  out  into  the  main  tent,  where  simulta- 
neous rehearsals  were  everywhere  in  progress;  and  I 
picked  up  the  ring-master's  whip  and  sent  it  curling 
after  "Briza,"  a  harmless,  fat,  white  mare  on  which 
pretty  Mrs.  Grigg  was  sitting  expectantly.  Round  and 
round  the  ring  she  cantered,  now  astride  two  horses, 
now  guiding  a  "spike,"  practising  assiduously  her 
acrobatics.  At  intervals,  far  up  in  the  rigging  over- 

232 


THE    PATH    OF    THE    LIZARD 

head,  I  caught  glimpses  of  Miss  Crystal  swinging  on 
her  trapeze,  watching  the  ring  below. 

Byram  came  in  to  rehearse  the  opening  proces- 
sional and  to  rebuke  his  dearest  foe,  the  unspeakable 
"camuel,"  bestridden  by  Mrs.  Horan  as  Fatima,  Queen 
of  the  Desert.  Speed  followed,  squatted  on  the  head  of 
the  elephant,  ankus  on  thigh,  shouting,  "  H6ut!  Mail ! 
Djebe  Noain!  Mail  the  hezar!  Mail!"  he  thundered, 
triumphantly,  saluting  Byram  with  lifted  ankus  as  the 
elephant  ambled  past  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"Clear  the  ring!"  cried  Byram. 

Miss  Delany,  who  was  outlining  Jacqueline  with 
juggler's  knives,  began  to  pull  her  stock  of  cutlery 
from  the  soft  pine  backing;  elephant,  camel,  horses 
trampled  out;  Miss  Crystal  caught  a  dangling  rope 
and  slid  earthward,  and  I  turned  and  walked  towards 
the  outer  door  with  Byram. 

As  I  looked  back  for  an  instant  I  saw  Jacqueline,  in 
her  glittering  diving-skin,  calmly  step  out  of  her  dis- 
carded skirt  and  walk  towards  the  sunken  tank  in  the 
middle  of  the  ring,  which  three  workmen  were  uncover- 
ing. 

She  was  to  rehearse  her  perilous  leap  for  the  first 
time  to-day,  and  I  told  Speed  frankly  that  I  was  too 
nervous  to  be  present,  and  so  left  him  staring  across 
the  dusky  tent  at  the  slim  child  in  spangles. 

I  had  an  appointment  to  meet  Robert  the  Lizard  at 
noon,  and  I  was  rather  curious  to  find  out  how  much 
his  promises  were  worth  when  the  novelty  of  his  new 
gun  had  grown  stale.  So  I  started  towards  the  cliffs, 
nibbling  a  crust  of  bread  for  luncheon,  though  the  in- 
cident of  the  morning  had  left  me  small  appetite  for 
food. 

The  poacher  was  sunning  himself  on  his  door-sill 
when  T  came  into  view  over  the  black  basalt  rocks. 
To  my  surprise,  he  touched  his  cap  as  I  approached, 

233 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

and  rose  civilly,  replying  to  my  greeting  with  a  brief, 
"Salute,  m'sieu!" 

"  You  are  prompt  to  the  minute/'  I  said,  pleasantly. 

"  You  also,"  he  observed.  "  We  are  quits,  m'sieu — 
so  far." 

I  told  him  of  the  progress  that  Jacqueline  was  mak- 
ing ;  he  listened  in  silence,  and  whether  or  not  he  was 
interested  I  could  not  determine. 

There  was  a  pause ;  I  looked  out  across  the  sun-lit 
ocean,  taking  time  to  arrange  the  order  of  the  few 
questions  which  I  had  to  ask. 

"Come  to  the  point,  m'sieu,"  he  said,  dryly.  "We 
have  struck  palms." 

Spite  of  my  training,  spite  of  the  caution  which  ex- 
perience brings  to  the  most  unsuspicious  of  us,  I  had 
a  curious  confidence  in  this  tattered  rascals  loyalty 
to  a  promise.  And  apparently  without  reason,  too, 
for  there  was  something  wrong  with  his  eyes — or  else 
with  the  wray  he  used  them.  They  were  wonderful, 
vivid  blue  eyes,  well  set  and  wTell  shaped,  but  he  never 
looked  at  anybody  directly  except  in  moments  of  excite- 
ment or  fury.  At  such  moments  his  eyes  appeared  to 
be  lighted  up  from  behind. 

"Lizard/'  I  said,  "you  are  a  poacher." 

His  placid  visage  turned  stormy. 

"None  of  that,  m'sieu,"  he  retorted;  "remember  the 
bargain!  Concern  yourself  with  your  own  affairs!" 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "I'm  not  trying  to  reform  you. 
For  my  purposes  it  is  a  poacher  I  want — else  I  might 
have  gone  to  another." 

"  That  sounds  more  reasonable,"  he  admitted,  guard- 
edly. 

"I  want  to  ask  this,"  I  continued :  "are  you  a  poach- 
er from  necessity,  or  from  that  pure  love  of  the  chase 
which  is  born  in  even  worse  men  than  you  and  I?" 

"I  poach  because  I  love  it.  There  are  no  poachers 
234 


THE    PATH   OF   THE    LIZARD 

from  necessity ;  there  is  always  the  sea,  which  furnishes 
work  for  all  who  care  to  steer  a  sloop,  or  draw  a  seine, 
or  wield  a  sea-rake.  I  am  a  pilot." 

"But  the  war?" 

"  At  least  the  war  could  not  keep  me  from  the  sardine 
grounds." 

"So  you  poach  from  choice?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  in  me.  I  am  sorry,  but  what  shall  I  do? 
It's  in  me." 

"And  you  can't  resist?" 

He  laughed  grimly.  "Go  and  call  in  the  hounds 
from  the  stag's  throat!" 

Presently  I  said: 

"You  have  been  in  jail?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  indifferently. 

"For  poaching?" 

"Eur  e'harvik  rous,"  he  said  in  Breton,  and  I  could 
not  make  out  whether  he  meant  that  he  had  been  in 
jail  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  or  of  a  "little  red  doe." 
The  Breton  language  bristles  with  double  meanings, 
symbols,  and  allegories.  The  word  for  doe  in  Breton 
is  karvez  ;  or  for  a  doe  which  never  had  a  fawn,  it  is 
heiez;  for  a  fawn  the  word  is  karvik. 

I  mentioned  these  facts  to  him,  but  he  only  looked 
dangerous  and  remained  silent. 

"  Lizard,"  I  said,  "  give  me  your  confidence  as  I  give 
you  mine.  I  will  tell  you  now  that  I  was  once  in  the 
police — " 

He  started. 

"  And  that  I  expect  to  enter  that  corps  again.  And 
I  want  your  aid." 

"My  aid?  For  the  police?"  His  laugh  was  simply 
horrible.  "I?  The  Lizard?  Continue,  m'sieu." 

"  I  will  tell  you  why.  Yesterday,  on  a  visit  to  Point 
Paradise,  I  saw  a  man  lying  belly  down  in  the  bracken ; 
but  I  didn't  let  him  know  I  saw  him.  I  have  served 

235 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

in  the  police;  I  think  I  recognize  that  man.  He  is 
known  in  Belleville  as  Tric-Trac.  He  came  here,  I 
believe,  to  see  a  man  called  Buckhurst.  Can  you 
find  this  Tric-Trac  for  me?  Do  you,  perhaps,  know 
him?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Lizard,  "I  knew  him  in  prison." 

"You  have  seen  him  here?" 

"Yes,  but  I  will  not  betray  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  poor,  hunted  devil  of  a  poacher  like 
me ! "  cried  the  Lizard,  angrily.  "  He  must  live ;  there's 
enough  land  in  Finistere  for  us  both." 

"How  long  has  he  been  here  in  Paradise?" 

"For  two  months." 

"And  he  told  you  he  lived  by  poaching?" 

"Yes." 

"He  lies." 

The  Lizard  looked  at  me  intently. 

"  He  has  played  you ;  he  is  a  thief,  and  he  has  come 
here  to  rob.  He  is  a  filou — a  town  rat.  Can  he  bend 
a  hedge-snare?  Can  he  line  a  string  of  dead-falls? 
Can  he  even  snare  enough  game  to  keep  himself  from 
starving?  He  a  woodsman?  He  a  poacher  of  the 
bracken?  You  are  simple,  my  friend." 

The  veins  in  the  poacher's  neck  began  to  swell  and 
a  dull  color  flooded  his  face. 

"Prove  that  he  has  played  me,"  he  said. 

"Prove  it  yourself." 

"How?" 

"By  watching  him.  He  came  here  to  meet  a  man 
named  Buckhurst." 

"I  have  seen  that  man  Buckhurst,  too.  What  is 
he  doing  here?"  asked  the  Lizard. 

"  That  is  what  I  want  you  to  find  out  and  help  me  to 
find  out!"  I  said.  "Voila!  Now  you  know  what  I 
want  of  you." 

236 


THE    PATH   OF    THE    LIZARD 

The  sombre  visage  of  the  poacher  twitched. 

"I  take  it,"  said  I,  "that  you  would  not  make  a 
comrade  of  a  petty  pickpocket." 

The  poacher  uttered  an  oath  and  shook  his  fist  at 
me.  "Bon  sang!"  he  snarled,  "I  am  an  honest  man 
if  I  am  a  poacher!" 

"That's  the  reason  I  trusted  you,"  said  I,  good- 
humoredly.  "Take  your  fists  down,  my  friend,  and 
think  out  a  plan  which  will  permit  me  to  observe  this 
Monsieur  Tric-Trac  at  my  leisure,  without  I  myself 
being  observed." 

"That  is  easy,"  he  said.  "I  take  him  food  to- 
day." 

"Then  I  was  right,"  said  I,  laughing.  "He  is  a 
Belleville  rat,  who  cannot  feed  himself  where  there  are 
no  pockets  to  pick.  Does  he  know  a  languste  from  a 
linnet?  Not  he,  my  friend!" 

The  Lizard  sat  still,  head  bent,  knees  drawn  up,  ap- 
parently buried  in  thought.  There  is  no  injury  one 
can  do  a  Breton  of  his  class  like  the  injury  of  deceiving 
and  mocking. 

If  Tric-Trac,  a  man  of  the  city,  had  come  here  to 
profit  by  the  ignorance  of  a  Breton  —  and  perhaps 
laugh  at  his  stupidity! 

But  I  let  the  ferment  work  in  the  dark  blood  of  the 
Lizard,  leaving  him  to  his  own  sombre  logic,  undis- 
turbed. 

Presently  the  Lizard  raised  his  head  and  fixed  his 
bright,  intelligent  eyes  on  me. 

"M'sieu,"  he  said,  in  a  curiously  gentle  voice,  "we 
men  of  Paradise  are  called  out  for  the  army.  I  must 
go,  or  go  to  jail.  How  can  I  remain  here  and  help  you 
trap  these  filous?" 

"I  have  telegraphed  to  General  Chanzy,"  I  said, 
frankly.  "If  he  accepts — or  if  General  Aurelles  de 
Palladine  is  favorable — I  shall  make  you  exempt  under 

237 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

authority  from  Tours.     I  mean  to  keep  you  in  my 
service,  anyway/'  I  added. 

"  You  mean  that — that  I  need  not  go  to  Lorient — to 
this  war?" 

"I  hope  so,  my  friend." 

He  looked  at  me,  astonished.  "  If  you  can  do  that, 
m'sieu,  you  can  do  anything." 

"In  the  meanwhile,"  I  said,  dryly,  "I  want  another 
look  at  Tric-Trac." 

"I  could  show  you  Tric-Trac  in  an  hour — but  to 
go  to  him  direct  would  excite  his  suspicion.  Besides, 
there  are  two  gendarmes  in  Paradise  to  conduct  the 
conscripts  to  Lorient;  there  are  also  several  gardes- 
champ£tre.  But  I  can  get  you  there,  in  the  open 
moorland,  too,  under  everybody's  noses!  Shall  I?" 
he  said,  with  an  eager  ferocity  that  startled  me. 

"You  are  not  to  injure  him,  no  matter  what  he  does 
or  says,"  I  said,  sharply.  "  I  want  to  watch  him,  not 
to  frighten  him  away.  I  want  to  see  what  he  and 
Buckhurst  are  doing.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  strike  palms!" 

We  struck  vigorously. 

"Now  I  am  ready  to  start,"  I  said,  pleasantly. 

"And  now  I  am  ready  to  tell  you  something,"  he 
said,  with  the  fierce  light  burning  behind  his  blue 
eyes.  "If  you  were  already  in  the  police  I  would  not 
help  you — no,  not  even  to  trap  this  filou  who  has  mocked 
me!  If  you  again  enter  the  police  I  will  desert  you!" 

He  licked  his  dry  lips. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  blood-feud  is?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"Then  understand  that  a  man  in  a  high  place  has 
wronged  me — and  that  he  is  of  the  police — the  Imperial 
Military  police!" 

"Who?" 

238 


THE    PATH    OF    THE    LIZARD 

"  You  will  know  when  I  pass  my  fagot-knife  into  his 
throat,"  he  snarled — "not  before." 

The  Lizard  picked  up  his  fishing-rod,  slung  a  canvas 
bag  over  his  stained  velveteen  jacket,  gathered  together 
a  few  coils  of  hair-wire,  a  pot  of  twig-lime,  and  other 
odds  and  ends,  which  he  tucked  into  his  broad-flapped 
coat  -  pocket.  "Allons,"  he  said,  briefly,  and  we 
started. 

The  canvas  bag  on  his  back  bulged,  perhaps  with 
provisions,  although  the  steel  point  of  a  murderous 
salmon-gaff  protruded  from  the  mouth  of  the  sack  and 
curved  over  his  shoulder. 

The  village  square  in  Paradise  was  nearly  deserted. 
The  children  had  raced  away  to  follow  the  newly  arrived 
gendarmes  as  closely  as  they  dared,  and  the  women 
were  in-doors  hanging  about  their  men,  whom  the  gov- 
ernment summoned  to  Lorient. 

There  were,  however,  a  few  people  in  the  square,  and 
these  the  Lizard  was  very  careful  to  greet.  Thus  we 
passed  the  mayor,  waddling  across  the  bridge,  puffing 
with  official  importance  over  the  arrival  of  the  gen- 
darmes. He  bowed  to  me;  the  Lizard  saluted  him 
with,  " Times  are  hard  on  the  fat!"  to  which  the  mayor 
replied  morosely,  and  bade  him  go  to  the  devil. 

"Au  revoir,  done,"  retorted  the  Lizard,  unabashed. 
The  mayor  bawled  after  him  a  threat  of  arrest  unless 
he  reported  next  day  in  the  square. 

At  that  the  poacher  halted.  "Don't  you  wish  you 
might  get  me!"  he  said,  tauntingly,  probably  presum- 
ing on  my  conditional  promise. 

"  Do  you  refuse  to  report?"  demanded  the  mayor,  also 
halting. 

"Et  ta  soeur!"  replied  the  poacher;  "is  she  reporting 
at  the  caserne?" 

The  mayor  replied  angrily,  and  a  typical  Breton 
quarrel  began,  which  ended  in  the  mayor  biting  his 

239 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

thumb-nail  at  the  Lizard  and  wishing  him  "  St.  Hubert's 
luck" — an  insult  tantamount  to  a  curse. 

Now  St.  Hubert  was  a  mighty  hunter,  and  his  luck 
was  proverbially  marvellous.  But  as  everything  goes 
by  contrary  in  Brittany,  to  wish  a  Breton  hunter  good 
luck  was  the  very  worst  thing  you  could  do  him.  Bad 
luck  was  certain  to  follow — if  not  that  very  day,  cer- 
tainly, inexorably,  some  day. 

With  wrath  in  his  eyes  the  Lizard  exhausted  his 
profanity,  stretching  out  his  arm  after  the  retreating 
mayor,  who  waddled  away,  gesticulating,  without  turn- 
ing his  head. 

"Come  back!  Toad!  Sourd!  V-Snake!  Bat  of 
the  gorse!"  shouted  the  Lizard.  "Do  you  think  I'm 
afraid  of  your  spells,  fat  owl  of  Faouet?  Evil-eyed  eel ! 
The  luck  of  Ker-Ys  to  you  and  yours!  Ho  fois!  Do 
you  think  I  am  frightened  —  I,  Robert  the  Lizard? 
Your  wife  is  a  camel  and  your  daughter  a  cow!"  The 
mayor  was  unmarried,  but  it  didn't  matter.  And, 
moreover,  as  that  official  was  now  out  of  ear-shot,  the 
Lizard  turned  anxiously  to  me. 

"Don't  tell  me  you  are  superstitious  enough  to  care 
what  the  mayor  said,"  I  laughed. 

"  Dame,  m'sieu,  we  shall  have  no  luck  to-day.  To- 
morrow it  doesn't  matter — but  if  we  go  to-day,  bad  luck 
must  come  to  us." 

"To-day?    Nonsense!" 

"If  not,  then  another  day." 

"Rubbish!    Come  on." 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  take  precautions?"  he  asked, 
furtively. 

"Take  all  you  like,"  I  said;  "rack  your  brains  for 
an  antidote  to  neutralize  the  bad  luck,  only  come  on, 
you  great  gaby!" 

I  knew  many  of  the  Finistere  legends;  out  of  the 
corner  of  my  eye  I  watched  this  stalwart  rascal,  cowed 

240 


THE    PATH   OF    THE    LIZARD 

by  gross  superstition,  peeping  about  for  some  favorable 
sign  to  counteract  the  luck  of  St.  Hubert. 

First  he  looked  up  at  the  crows,  and  counted  them 
as  they  passed  overhead  cawing  ominously — one — two 
— three — four — five !  Five  is  danger !  But  wait,  more 
were  coining:  one  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five — six  — 
seven — !  A  loss!  Well,  that  was  not  as  bad  as  some 
things.  But  hark!  More  crows  coming:  one — two — 
three!  Death! 

"  Jesti!''  he  faltered,  ducking  his  head  instinctively. 
"I'll  look  elsewhere  for  signs." 

The  signs  were  all  wrong  that  morning ;  first  we  met 
an  ancient  crone  with  a  great  pack  of  fagots  on  her 
bent  back,  and  I  was  sure  he  could  have  strangled  her 
cheerfully,  because  there  are  few  worse  omens  for  a 
hunter  of  game  or  of  men.  Then  he  examined  the 
first  mushroom  he  found,  but  under  the  pink-and-pearl 
cap  we  saw  no  insects  crawling.  The  veil,  too,  was 
rent,  showing  the  poisonous,  fluted  gills ;  and  the  toad- 
stool blackened  when  he  cut  it  with  the  blade  of  his 
fagot-knife. 

He  tried  once  more,  however,  and  searched  through 
the  gorse  until  he  found  a  heavy  lizard,  green  as  an 
emerald.  He  teased  it  till  it  snapped  at  the  silver  franc 
in  my  hand ;  its  teeth  should  have  vanished,  but  when 
he  held  out  his  finger  the  creature  bit  into  it  till  the 
blood  spurted. 

Still  I  refused  to  turn  back.  What  should  he  do? 
Then  into  his  mind  crept  a  Pouldu  superstition.  It 
was  a  charm  against  evil,  including  lightning,  black- 
rot,  rheumatism,  and  "  douleurs  "  of  other  varieties. 

The  charm  was  simple.  We  needed  only  to  build 
a  little  fire  of  gorse,  and  walk  through  the  smoke  once 
or  twice.  So  we  built  the  fire  and  walked  through  the 
smoke,  the  Lizard  coughing  and  cursing  until  I  feared 
he  might  overdo  it  by  smothering  us  both.  Then 
•e  241 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

stamping  out  the  last  spark  —  for  he  was  a  woods- 
man always  —  we  tramped  on  in  better  humor  with 
destiny. 

"  You  think  that  turned  the  curse  backward,  m'sieu?" 
he  asked. 

"There  is  not  the  faintest  doubt  of  that/'  I  said. 

Far  away  towards  Sainte-Ysole  we  saw  the  blue  woods 
which  were  our  goal.  However,  we  had  no  intention 
of  going  there  as  the  bee  flies,  partly  because  Tric-Trac 
might  see  us,  partly  because  the  Lizard  wished  any 
prowling  passer-by  to  observe  that  he  was  occupied 
with  his  illegitimate  profession.  For  my  part,  I  very 
much  preferred  a  brush  with  a  garde-champetre  or  a 
summons  to  explain  why  no  shots  were  found  in  the 
Lizard's  pheasants,  rather  than  have  anybody  ask 
us  why  we  were  walking  so  fast  towards  Sainte-Ysole 
woods. 

Therefore  we  promptly  selected  a  hedge  for  opera- 
tions, choosing  a  high,  thick  one,  which  separated  two 
fields  of  wheat  stubble. 

Kneeling  under  the  hedge,  he  broke  a  hole  in  it  just 
large  enough  for  a  partridge  to  worry  through.  Then 
he  bent  his  twig,  fastened  the  hair-wire  into  a  running 
noose,  adjusted  it,  and  stood  up.  This  manoeuvre  he 
repeated  at  various  hedges  or  in  thickets  where  he 
"lined"  his  trail  with  peeled  twigs  on  every  bush. 

Once  he  paused  to  reset  a  hare-trap  with  a  turnip, 
picked  up  in  a  neighboring  field ;  once  he  limed  a  young 
sapling  and  fixed  a  bit  of  a  mirror  in  the  branches,  but 
not  a  bird  alighted,  although  the  blackthorns  were 
full  of  fluttering  wings.  And  all  the  while  we  had  been 
twisting  and  doubling  and  edging  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  Sainte-Ysole  woods,  until  we  were  already  within 
their  cool  shadow,  and  I  heard  the  tinkle  of  a  stream 
among  leafy  depths. 

Now  we  had  no  fear;  we  were  hidden  from  the  eyes 
242 


THE    PATH   OF    THE    LIZARD 

of  the  dry,  staring  plain,  and  the  Lizard  laughed  to 
himself  as  he  fastened  a  grasshopper  to  his  hook  and 
flung  it  into  the  broad,  dark  water  of  the  pool  at  his 
feet. 

Slowly  he  fished  up  stream,  but,  although  he  seemed 
to  be  intent  on  his  sport,  there  was  something  in  the 
bend  of  his  head  that  suggested  he  might  be  listening 
for  other  sounds  than  the  complex  melodies  of  mossy 
waterfalls. 

His  poacher's  eyes  began  to  glisten  and  shimmer 
in  the  forest  dusk  like  the  eyes  of  wild  things  that  hunt 
at  night.  As  he  noiselessly  turned,  his  nostrils  spread 
with  a  tremor,  as  a  good  dog's  nose  quivers  at  the  point. 

Presently  he  beckoned  me,  stepped  into  the  moss, 
and  crawled  without  a  sound  straight  through  the 
holly  thicket. 

"Watch  here,"  he  whispered.  "Count  a  hundred 
when  I  disappear,  then  creep  on  your  stomach  to  the 
edge  of  that  bank.  In  the  bed  of  the  stream,  close  under 
you,  you  will  see  and  hear  your  friend  Tric-Trac." 

Before  I  had  counted  fifty  I  heard  the  Lizard  cry  out, 
"Bon jour,  Tric-Trac!"  but  I  counted  on,  obeying  the 
Lizard's  orders  as  I  should  wish  mine  to  be  obeyed. 
I  heard  a  startled  exclamation  in  reply  to  the  Lizard's 
greeting,  then  a  purely  Parisian  string  of  profanity, 
which  terminated  as  I  counted  one  hundred  and  crept 
forward  to  the  mossy  edge  of  the  bank,  under  the  yellow 
beach  leaves. 

Below  me  stood  the  Lizard,  intently  watching  a  figure 
crouched  on  hands  and  knees  before  a  small,  iron-bound 
box. 

The  person  addressed  as  Tric-Trac  promptly  tried 
to  hide  the  box  by  sitting  down  on  it.  He  was  a  young 
man,  with  wide  ears  and  unhealthy  spots  on  his  face. 
His  hair,  which  was  oily  and  thick,  he  wore  neatly 
plastered  into  two  pointed  love-locks.  This  not  only 

243 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

adorned  and  distinguished  him,  but  it  lent  a  casual 
and  detached  air  to  his  ears,  which  stood  at  right  angles 
to  the  plane  of  his  face.  I  knew  that  engaging  coun- 
tenance. It  was  the  same  old  Tric-Trac. 

"Zut,  alors!"  repeated  Tric-Trac,  venomously,  as 
the  poacher  smiled  again ;  "  can't  you  give  the  company 
notice  when  you  come  in?" 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  ring  the  tocsin?"  asked  the 
Lizard. 

"Flute!"  snarled  Tric-Trac.  "Like  a  mud-rat,  you 
creep  with  no  sound  —  c'est  pas  polite,  nom  d'un 
nom!" 

He  began  nervously  brushing  the  pine-needles  from 
his  skin-tight  trousers,  with  dirty  hands. 

"What's  that  box?"  asked  the  Lizard,  abruptly. 

"Box?  Where?"  A  vacant  expression  came  into 
Tric-Trac 's  face,  and  he  looked  all  around  him  except 
at  the  box  upon  which  he  was  sitting. 

"Box?"  he  repeated,  with  that  hopeless  effrontery 
which  never  deserts  criminals  of  his  class,  even  under 
the  guillotine.  "I  don't  see  any  box." 

"  You're  sitting  on  it,"  observed  the  Lizard. 

"Tfcofbox?  Oh!  You  mean  that  box?  Oh!"  He 
peeped  at  it  between  his  meagre  legs,  then  turned  a 
nimble  eye  on  the  poacher. 

"What's  in  it?"  demanded  the  poacher,  sullenly. 

"Don't  know,"  replied  Tric-Trac,  with  brisk  interest. 
"I  found  it." 

"Found  it!"  repeated  the  Lizard,  scornfully. 

"Certainly,  my  friend;  how  do  you  suppose  I  came 
by  it?" 

"You  stole  it!" 

They  faced  each  other  for  a  moment. 

"Supposition  that  you  are  correct;  what  of  it?"  said 
the  young  ruffian,  calmly. 

The  Lizard  was  silent. 

244 


THE    PATH   OF    THE    LIZARD 

"Did  you  bring  me  anything  to  chew  on?"  inquired 
Tric-Trac,  sniffing  at  the  poacher's  sack. 

"Bread,  cheese,  three  pheasants,  cider — more  than 
I  eat  in  a  week,"  said  the  Lizard,  quietly.  "  It  will  cost 
forty  sous." 

He  opened  his  sack  and  slowly  displayed  the  pro- 
visions. 

I  looked  hard  at  the  iron-bound  box. 

On  one  end  was  painted  the  Geneva  cross.  Dr.  Del- 
mont  and  Professor  Tavernier  had  disappeared  carry- 
ing red-cross  funds.  Was  that  their  box? 

"I  said  it  costs  forty  sous — two  silver  francs,"  re- 
peated the  Lizard,  doggedly. 

"Forty  sous?  That's  robbery!"  sniffed  the  young 
ruffian,  now  using  that  half -whining,  half -sneering 
form  of  discourse  peculiar  alike  to  the  vicious  chevalier 
of  Paris  and  his  confrere  of  the  provincial  centres. 
Accent  and  slang  alone  distinguish  between  them ;  the 
argot,  however,  is  practically  the  same. 

Tric-Trac  fished  a  few  coins  from  his  pocket,  counted 
carefully,  and  handed  them,  one  by  one,  to  the  poacher. 

The  poacher  coolly  tossed  the  food  on  the  ground, 
and,  as  Tric-Trac  rose  to  pick  it  up,  seized  the  box. 

"Drop  that!"  said  Tric-Trac,  quickly. 

"What's  in  it?" 

"Nothing!     Drop  it,  I  tell  you." 

"Where's  the  key?" 

"There's  no  key — it's  a  machine." 

"What's  in  it?" 

"Now  I've  been  trying  to  find  out  for  two  weeks," 
sneered  Tric-Trac,  "and  I  don't  know  yet.  Drop  it!" 

"  I'm  going  to  open  it  all  the  same,"  said  the  Lizard, 
coolly,  lifting  the  lid. 

A  sudden  silence  followed;  then  the  Lizard  swore 
vigorously.  There  was  another  box  within  the  light, 
iron -edged  casket,  a  keyless  cube  of  shining  steel, 

245 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

with  a  knob  on  the  top,  and  a  needle  which  revolved 
around  a  dial  on  which  were  engraved  the  hours  and 
minutes.  And  emblazoned  above  the  dial  was  the  coat 
of  arms  of  the  Countess  de  Vassart. 

When  Tric-Trac  had  satisfied  himself  concerning  '  he 
situation,  he  returned  to  devour  his  food. 

"  Flute !  Zut !  Mince ! "  he  observed ;  "  you  and  your 
bad  manners,  they  sicken  me — tiens!" 

The  Lizard,  flat  on  his  stomach,  lay  with  the  massive 
steel  box  under  his  chin,  patiently  turning  the  needle 
from  figure  to  figure. 

"  Wonderful !  wonderful  1 "  sneered  Tric-Trac.  "  Con- 
tinue, my  friend,  to  put  out  your  eyes  with  your  fingers ! " 

The  Lizard  continued  to  turn  the  needle  backward 
and  forward  around  the  face  of  the  dial.  Once,  when 
he  twirled  it  impatiently,  a  tiny  chime  rang  out  from 
within  the  box,  but  the  steel  lid  did  not  open. 

"It's  the  Angelus,"  said  Tric-Trac,  with  a  grimace. 
"Let  us  pray,  my  friend,  for  a  cold-chisel — when  my 
friend  Buckhurst  returns." 

Still  the  Lizard  lay,  unmoved,  turning  the  needle 
round  and  round. 

Tric-Trac  having  devoured  the  cheese,  bread,  and  an 
entire  pheasant,  made  a  bundle  of  the  remaining  food, 
emptied  the  cider-jug,  wiped  his  beardless  face  with  his 
cap,  and  announced  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  "  broil " 
a  cigarette. 

"Do  you  want  the  gendarmes  to  scent  tobacco?" 
said  the  Lizard. 

"Are  the  'Flics'  out  already?"  asked  Tric-Trac,  as- 
tonished. 

"  They're  in  Paradise,  setting  the  whole  Department 
by  the  ears.  But  they  can't  look  sideways  at  me;  I'm 
going  to  be  exempt." 

"It  strikes  me,"  observed  Tric-Trac,  "that  you  take 
great  precautions  for  your  own  skin." 

246 


THE    PATH    OF    THE   LIZARD 

"I  do,"  said  the  Lizard. 

"What  about  me?" 

The  poacher  looked  around  at  the  young  ruffian. 
Those  muscles  in  the  human  face  which  draw  back 
the  upper  lip  are  not  the  muscles  used  for  laughter. 
Animals  employ  them  when  they  snarl.  And  now  the 
Lizard  laughed  that  way;  his  upper  lip  shrank  from 
the  edge  of  his  yellow  teeth,  and  he  regarded  Tric- 
Trac  with  oblique  and  burning  eyes. 

"  What  about  me?"  repeated  Tric-Trac,  in  an  offended 
tone.  "Am  I  to  live  in  fear  of  the  Flics?" 

The  Lizard  laughed  again,  and  Tric-Trac,  disgusted, 
stood  up,  settled  his  cap  over  his  wide  ears,  humming 
a  song  as  he  loosened  his  trousers-belt: 

"  Si  vous  t'nez  a  vot'  squelette 
Ne  fait'  pas  comme  Bibi  I 
Claquer  plut&t  dans  vot'  lit 
Que  de  claquer  a  la  Roquette!" — 

"Who  are  you  gaping  at?"  he  added,  abruptly. 
"Bon;  c'est  ma  geule.  Et  apres?  Drop  that  box!" 

"  Come, "  replied  the  Lizard,  coldly,  placing  the 
box  on  the  moss,  "you'd  better  not  quarrel  with 
me." 

"Oh,  that's  a  threat,  is  it?"  sneered  Tric-Trac.  He 
walked  over  to  the  steel  box,  lifted  it,  placed  it  in  the 
iron-edged  case,  and  sat  down  on  the  case. 

"I  want  you  to  comprehend,"  he  added,  "that  you 
have  pushed  your  nose  into  an  affair  that  does  not 
concern  you.  The  next  time  you  come  here  to  sell 
your  snared  pheasants,  come  like  a  man,  nom  de  Dieti! 
and  not  like  a  cat  of  the  Glaciere! — or  I'll  find  a  way  to 
stop  your  curiosity." 

The  dull-red  color  surged  into  the  poacher's  face  and 
heavy  neck ;  for  a  moment  he  stood  as  though  stunned. 
Then  he  dragged  out  his  knife. 

247 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Tric-Trac  sat  looking  at  him  insolently,  one  hand 
thrust  into  the  bosom  of  his  greasy  coat. 

"I've  got  a  toy  under  my  cravate  that  says  'Papa!' 
six  times — pop!  pop!  pop!  pop!  pop!  pop!  Papa!"  he 
continued,  calmly ;  "so  there's  no  use  in  your  turning 
red  and  swelling  the  veins  in  your  neck.  Go  to  the 
devil!  Do  you  think  I  can't  live  without  you?  Go  to 
the  devil  with  your  traps  and  partridges  and  fish-hooks 
— and  that  fagot-knife  in  your  fist — and  if  you  try  to 
throw  it  at  me  you'll  make  a  sad  mistake!" 

The  Lizard's  half-raised  hand  dropped  as  Tric-Trac, 
with  a  movement  like  lightning,  turned  a  revolver  full 
on  him,  talking  all  the  while  in  his  drawling  whine. 

"  C'est  c.£ !  Now  you  are  reasonable.  Get  out  of  this 
forest,  my  friend  —  or  stay  and  join  us.  Eh!  That 
astonishes  you?  Why?  Idiot,  we  want  men  like  you. 
We  want  men  who  have  nothing  to  lose  and — millions 
to  gain!  Ah,  you  are  amazed!  Yes,  millions — I  say 
it.  I,  Tric-Trac  of  the  Glaciere,  who  have  done  my  time 
in  Noumea,  too!  Yes,  millions." 

The  young  ruffian  laughed  and  slowly  passed  his 
tongue  over  his  thin  lips.  The  Lizard  slowly  returned 
his  knife  to  its  sheath,  looked  all  around,  then  de- 
liberately sat  down  on  the  moss  cross-legged.  I  could 
have  hugged  him. 

"A  million?    Where ?"  he  asked,  vacantly. 

"Parbleu!  Naturally  you  ask  where,"  chuckled 
Tric-Trac.  "Tiens!  A  supposition  that  it's  in  this 
box!" 

"The  box  is  too  small,"  said  the  Lizard,  patiently. 

Tric-Trac  roared.     "  Listen  to  him !     Listen  to  the 
child!"  he  cried,  delighted.     "Too  small  to  hold  gold 
enough  for  you?    Very  well — but  is  a  ship  big  enough?" 
"A  big  ship  is." 

Tric-Trac  wriggled  in  convulsions  of  laughter. 
"Oh,  listen!     He  wants  a  big  ship!     Well — say  a 
248 


THE    PATH    OF    THE    LIZARD 

ship  as  big  as  that  ugly,  black  iron-clad  sticking  up 
out  of  the  sea  yonder,  like  a  Usine-de-gaz ! " 

"I  think  that  ship  would  be  big  enough/'  said  the 
poacher,  seriously. 

Tric-Trac  did  not  laugh ;  his  little  eyes  narrowed,  and 
he  looked  steadily  at  the  poacher. 

"  Do  you  mean  what  I  mean?"  he  asked,  deliberately. 

"Well,"  said  the  Lizard,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  France  is  busy  stitching  on  a  new  flag. " 

"Black?" 

"Red— first." 

"Oh-h!"  mused  the  poacher.  "When  does  France 
hoist  that  new  red  flag?" 

"When  Paris  falls." 

The  poacher  rested  his  chin  on  his  doubled  fist  and 
leaned  forward  across  his  gathered  knees.  "I  see," 
he  drawled. 

"  Under  the  commune  there  can  be  no  more  poverty," 
said  Tric-Trac;  "you  comprehend  that." 

"Exactly." 

"And  no  more  aristocrats." 

"Exactly." 

"Well,"  said  Tric-Trac,  his  head  on  one  side,  "how 
does  that  programme  strike  you?" 

"  It  is  impossible,  your  programme,"  said  the  poacher, 
rising  to  his  feet  impatiently. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Wait  a  few  days !  Wait,  my  friend, ' ' 
cried  Tric-Trac,  eagerly;  "and  say! — come  back  here 
next  Monday!  There  will  be  a  few  of  us  here — a  few 
friends.  And  keep  your  mouth  shut  tight.  Here! 
Wait.  Look  here,  friend,  don't  let  a  little  pleasantry 
stand  between  comrades.  Your  fagot-knife  against 
my  little  flute  that  sings  pa-pa! — that  leaves  matters 
balanced,  eh?" 

The  young  ruffian  had  followed  the  Lizard  and  caught 
him  by  his  stained  velvet  coat. 

249 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Voyons,"  he  persisted,  "do  you  think  the  commune 
is  going  to  let  a  comrade  starve  for  lack  of  Badinguet's 
lozenges?  Here,  take  a  few  of  these!"  and  the  rascal 
thrust  out  a  dirty  palm  full  of  twenty-franc  gold  pieces. 

"What  are  these  for?"  muttered  the  Lizard,  sullenly. 

"For  your  beaux  yeux,  imbecile!"  cried  Tric-Trac, 
gayly.  "  Come  back  when  you  want  more.  My  com- 
rade, Citizen  Buckhurst,  will  be  glad  to  see  you  next 
Monday.  Adieu,  my  friend.  Don't  chatter  to  the  Flics ! " 

He  picked  up  his  box  and  the  packet  of  provisions, 
dropped  his  revolver  into  the  side-pocket  of  his  jacket, 
cocked  his  greasy  cap,  blew  a  kiss  to  the  Lizard,  and 
started  off  straight  into  the  forest.  After  a  dozen  steps 
he  hesitated,  turned,  and  looked  back  at  the  poacher 
for  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  he  made  a  friendly 
grimace. 

"You  are  not  a  fool/'  he  said,  "so  you  won't  follow 
me.  Come  again  Monday.  It  will  really  be  worth 
while,  dear  friend."  Then,  as  on  an  impulse,  he  came 
all  the  way  back,  caught  the  Lizard  by  the  sleeve, 
raised  his  meagre  body  on  tiptoe,  and  whispered. 

The  Lizard  turned  perfectly  white;  Tric-Trac  trotted 
away  into  the  woods,  hugging  his  box  and  smirking. 

The  Lizard  and  I  walked  back  together.  By  the 
time  we  reached  Paradise  bridge  I  understood  him 
better,  and  he  understood  me.  And  when  we  arrived 
at  the  circus  tent,  and  when  Speed  came  up,  handing 
me  a  telegram  from  Chanzy  refusing  my  services,  the 
Lizard  turned  to  me  like  an  obedient  hound  to  take  my 
orders  —  now  that  I  was  not  to  re-enter  the  Military 
Police. 

I  ordered  him  to  disobey  the  orders  from  Lorient 
and  from  the  mayor  of  Paradise ;  to  take  to  the  woods 
as  though  to  avoid  the  conscription;  to  join  Buck- 
hurst's  franc  -  company  of  ruffians,  and  to  keep  me 
fully  informed. 

250 


THE    PATH    OF    THE    LIZARD 

"And,  Lizard,"  I  said,  "you  may  be  caught  and 
hanged  for  it  by  the  police,  or  stabbed  by  Tric-Trac." 

"Bien,"  he  said,  coolly. 

"  But  it  is  a  brave  thing  you  do;  a  soldierly  thing  I" 

He  was  silent. 

"It  is  for  France,"  I  said. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"And  we'll  catch  this  Tric-Trac  red-handed,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"Ah — yes!"  His  eyes  glowed  as  though  lighted  up 
from  behind.  "  And  another  who  is  high  in  the  police, 
and  a  friend  of  this  Tric-Trac!" 

"  Was  it  that  man's  name  he  whispered  to  you  when 
you  turned  so  white?"  I  said,  suddenly. 

The  Lizard  turned  his  glowing  eyes  on  me. 

"  Was  the  man's  name — Mornac?"  I  asked,  at  a  hope- 
less venture. 

The  Lizard  shivered;  I  needed  no  reply,  not  even 
his  hoarse,  "Are  you  the  devil,  that  you  know  all 
things?" 

I  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  What  wrong  could 
Mornac  have  done  a  ragged  outcast  here  on  the  Bre- 
ton coast?  And  where  was  Mornac?  Had  he  left  Paris 
in  time  to  avoid  the  Prussian  trap?  Was  he  here  in 
this  country,  rubbing  elbows  with  Buckhurst? 

"  Did  Tric-Trac  tell  you  that  Mornac  was  at  the  head 
of  that  band?"  I  demanded. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  stammered  the  Lizard; 
"  you  know  everything  —  even  when  it  is  scarcely 
whispered!" 

The  superstitious  astonishment  of  the  man,  his  utter 
collapse  and  his  evident  fear  of  me,  did  not  suit  me. 
Treachery  comes  through  that  kind  of  fear;  I  meant 
to  rule  him  in  another  and  safer  manner.  I  meant 
to  be  absolutely  honest  with  him. 

It  was  difficult  to  persuade  him  that  I  had  only  guessed 

251 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

the  name  whispered ;  that,  naturally,  I  should  think  of 
Mornac  as  a  high  officer  of  police,  and  particularly  so 
since  I  knew  him  to  be  a  villain,  and  had  also  divined 
his  relations  with  Buckhurst. 

I  drew  from  the  poacher  that  Tric-Trac  had  named 
Mornac  as  head  of  the  communistic  plot  in  Brittany  ; 
that  Mornac  was  coming  to  Paradise  very  soon,  and  that 
then  something  gay  might  be  looked  for. 

And  that  night  I  took  Speed  into  my  confidence  and 
finally  Kelly  Eyre,  our  balloonist. 

And  we  talked  the  matter  over  until  long  after  mid- 
night 


XV 

FOREWARNED 

THE  lions  had  now  begun  to  give  me  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  Timour  Melek,  the  old  villain,  sat  on 
his  chair,  snarling  and  striking  at  me,  but  still  going 
through  his  paces;  Empress  Khatoun  was  a  perfect 
devil  of  viciousness,  and  refused  to  jump  her  hoops; 
even  poor  little  Aicha,  my  pet,  fed  by  me  soon  after 
her  foster-mother,  a  big  Newfoundland,  had  weaned 
her,  turned  sullen  in  the  pyramid  scene.  I  roped  her 
and  trimmed  her  claws ;  it  was  high  time. 

Oh,  they  knew,  and  I  knew,  that  matters  had  gone 
wrong  with  me ;  that  I  had,  for  a  time,  at  least,  lost  the 
intangible  something  which  I  once  possessed — that  oc- 
cult right  to  dominate. 

It  worried  me ;  it  angered  me.  Anger  in  authority, 
which  is  a  weakness,  is  quickly  discovered  by  beasts. 

Speed's  absurd  superstition  continued  to  recur  to  me 
at  inopportune  moments;  in  my  brain  his  voice  was 
ceaselessly  sounding — "  A  man  in  love,  a  man  in  love, 
a  man  in  love  " — until  a  flash  of  temper  sent  my  lions 
scurrying  and  snarling  into  a  pack,  where  they  huddled 
and  growled,  staring  at  me  with  yellow,  mutinous  eyes. 

Yet,  strangely,  the  greater  the  risk,  and  the  plainer 
to  me  that  my  lions  were  slipping  out  of  my  control, 
the  more  my  apathy  increased,  until  even  Byram  began 
to  warn  me. 

Still  I  never  felt  the  slightest  physical  fear;  on  the 
253 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

contrary,  as  my  irritation  increased  my  disdain  grew. 
It  seemed  a  monstrous  bit  of  insolence  on  the  part  of 
these  overgrown  cats  to  meditate  an  attack  on  me. 
Even  though  I  began  to  feel  that  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time  when  the  moment  must  arrive,  even  though 
I  gradually  became  certain  that  the  first  false  move 
on  my  part  would  precipitate  an  attack,  the  knowledge 
left  me  almost  indifferent. 

That  morning,  as  I  left  the  training-cage — where, 
among  others,  Kelly  Eyre  stood  looking  on — I  suddenly 
remembered  Sylvia  Elven  and  her  message  to  Eyre, 
which  I  had  never  delivered. 

We  strolled  towards  the  stables  together;  he  was  a 
pleasant,  clean-cut,  fresh-faced  young  fellow,  a  man  I 
had  never  known  very  well,  but  one  whom  I  was  in- 
clined to  respect  and  trust. 

"My  son,"  said  I,  politety;  "do  you  think  you  have 
arrived  at  an  age  sufficiently  mature  to  warrant  my 
delivering  to  you  a  message  from  a  pretty  girl?" 

"There's  no  harm  in  attempting  it,  my  venerable 
friend,"  he  replied,  laughing. 

"  This  is  the  message,"  I  said :  "  On  Sunday  the 
book-stores  are  closed  in  Paris." 

"Who  gave  you  that  message,  Scarlett?"  he  stam- 
mered. 

I  looked  at  him  curiously,  brutally ;  a  red,  hot  blush 
had  covered  his  face  from  neck  to  hair. 

"In  case  you  asked,  I  was  to  inform  you,"  said  I, 
"that  a  Bretonne  at  Point  Paradise  sent  the  message." 

"A  Bretonne!"  he  repeated,  as  though  scared. 

"A  Bretonne!" 

"But  I  don't  know  any!" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  discreetly. 

"Are  you  certain  she  was  a  Bretonne?"  he  asked 
His  nervousness  surprised  me. 

"Does  she  not  say  so?"  I  replied. 
254 


FOREWARNED 

"I  know — I  know — but  that  message — there  is  only 
one  woman  who  could  have  sent  it — "  He  hesitated, 
red  as  a  pippin. 

He  was  so  young,  so  manly,  so  unspoiled,  and  so  red, 
that  on  an  impulse  I  said :  "  Kelly,  it  was  Mademoiselle 
Elven  who  sent  you  the  message." 

His  face  expressed  troubled  astonishment. 

"Is  that  her  name?"  he  asked. 

"Well — it's  one  of  them,  anyway,"  I  replied,  begin- 
ning to  feel  troubled  in  my  turn.  "See  here,  Kelly, 
it's  not  my  business,  but  you  won't  mind  if  I  speak 
plainly,  will  you?  The  times  are  queer — you  under- 
stand. Everybody  is  suspicious;  everybody  is  under 
suspicion  in  these  days.  And  I  want  to  say  that  the 
young  lady  who  sent  that  curious  message  to  you  is 
as  clever  as  twenty  men  like  you  and  me." 

He  was  silent. 

"  If  it  is  a  love  affair,  I'll  stop  now — not  a  question, 
you  understand.  If  it  is  not — well,  as  an  older  and 
more  battered  and  world- worn  man,  I'm  going  to  make 
a  suggestion  to  you — with  your  permission." 

"Make  it,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Then  I  will.  Don't  talk  to  Mademoiselle  Elven. 
You,  Speed,  and  I  know  something  about  a  certain 
conspiracy  ;  we  are  going  to  know  more  before  we  inform 
the  captain  of  that  cruiser  out  there  bej^ond  Point 
Paradise.  I  know  Mademoiselle  Elven  —  slightly.  I 
am  afraid  of  her — and  I  have  not  yet  decided  why. 
Don't  talk  to  her." 

"But — I  don't  know  her,"  he  said;  "or,  at  least  I 
don't  know  her  by  that  name." 

After  a  moment  I  said:  "Is  the  person  in  question 
the  companion  of  the  Countess  de  Vassart?" 

"If  she  is  I  do  not  know  it,"  he  replied. 

"Was  she  once  an  actress?" 

"It  would  astonish  me  to  believe  itl"  he  said. 
255 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Then  who  do  you  believe  sent  you  that  message, 
Kelly?" 

His  cheeks  began  to  burn  again,  and  he  gave  me  an 
uncomfortable  look.  A  silence,  and  he  sat  down  in 
my  dressing-room,  his  boyish  head  buried  in  his  hands. 
After  a  glance  at  him  I  began  changing  my  training- 
suit  for  riding  -  clothes,  whistling  the  while  softly  to 
myself.  As  I  buttoned  a  fresh  collar  he  looked  up. 

"Mr.  Scarlett,  you  are  well-born  and — you  are  here 
in  the  circus  with  the  rest  of  us.  You  know  what  we 
are — you  know  that  two  or  three  of  us  have  seen  better 
days,  .  .  .  that  something  has  gone  wrong  with  us  t<? 
bring  us  here,  .  .  .  but  we  never  speak  of  it,  ...  and 
never  ask  questions.  .  .  .  But  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  about  myself;  .  .  .  you  are  a  gentleman,  you 
know,  .  .  .  and  I  was  not  born  to  anything  in  par- 
ticular. ...  I  was  a  clerk  in  the  consul's  office  in  Paris 
when  Monsieur  Tissaridier  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  I 
entered  his  balloon  ateliers  to  learn  to  assist  him." 

He  hesitated.  I  tied  my  necktie  very  carefully  before 
a  bit  of  broken  mirror. 

"  Then  the  government  began  to  make  much  of  us, 
.  .  .  you  remember?  We  started  experiments  for  the 
army.  ...  I  was  intensely  interested,  and  .  .  .  there 
was  not  much  talk  about  secrecy  then,  .  .  .  and  my 
salary  was  large,  and  I  was  received  at  the  Tuileries. 
My  head  was  turned ;  .  .  .  life  was  easy,  brilliant.  I 
made  an  invention — a  little  electric  screw  which  steered 
a  balloon  .  .  .  sometimes  ..."  He  laughed,  a  mirth- 
less laugh,  and  looked  at  me.  All  the  color  had  gone 
from  his  face. 

"  There  was  a  woman — "  I  turned  partly  towards  him. 

"We  met  first  at  the  British  Embassy,  .  .  .  then 
elsewhere,  .  .  .  everywhere.  .  .  .  We  skated  together 
at  the  club  in  the  Bois  at  that  celebrated  fe'te,  .  .  .  you 
know? — the  Emperor  was  there — " 

256 


FOREWARNED 

"I  know/'  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  dreamily,  passed  his  hand  over  his 
face,  and  went  on : 

"  Somehow  we  always  talked  about  military  balloons. 
And  that  evening  .  .  .  she  was  so  interested  in  my 
work  ...  I  brought  some  little  sketches  I  had  made — " 

"I  understand,"  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me  miserably.  "She  was  to  return 
the  sketches  to  me  at  Caiman's — the  fashionable  book' 
store,  .  .  .  next  day.  ...  I  never  thought  that  the 
next  day  was  to  be  Sunday.  .  .  .  The  book -stores 
of  Paris  are  not  open  on  Sunday — but  the  War  Office 
is." 

I  began  to  put  on  my  coat. 

"And  the  sketches  were  asked  for?"  I  suggested — 
"and  you  naturally  told  what  had  become  of  them?" 

"I  refused  to  name  her." 

"Of  course;  men  of  our  sort  can't  do  that." 

"I  am  not  of  your  sort — you  know  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are,  my  friend — and  the  same  kind  of 
fool,  too.  There's  only  one  kind  of  man  in  this  world." 

He  looked  at  me  listlessly. 

"So  they  sent  you  to  a  fortress?"  I  asked. 

"  To  New  Caledonia,  .  .  .  four  years.  ...  I  was  only 
twenty,  Scarlett,  .  .  .  and  ruined.  ...  I  joined  Byram 
in  Antwerp  and  risked  the  tour  through  France." 

After  a  moment's  thought  I  said:  "In  your  opin- 
ion, what  nation  profited  by  your  sketches?  Italy? 
Spain?  Prussia?  Bavaria?  England?  .  .  .  Perhaps 
Russia?" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  this  woman  was  a  foreign  spy?" 

"  Perhaps.  Perhaps  she  was  only  careless,  or  capri- 
cious, ...  or  inconstant.  .  .  .  You  never  saw  her 
again?" 

"  I  was  under  arrest  on  Sunday.  I  do  not  know.  .  .  . 
I  like  to  believe  that  she  went  to  the  book-store  on 
.7  257 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Monday,  .  .  .  that  she  made  an  innocent  mistake,  .  .  . 
but  I  never  knew,  Scarlett,  ...  I  never  knew." 

"Suppose  you  ask  her?"  I  said. 

He  reddened  furiously. 

"  I  cannot  ...  If  she  did  me  a  wrong,  I  cannot  re- 
proach her;  if  she  was  innocent — look  at  me,  Scarlett! 
— a  ragged,  ruined  mountebank  in  a  travelling  circus, 
.  .  .  and  she  is — " 

"An  honest  woman  that  a  man  might  care  for?" 

"That  is  ...  my  belief." 

"If  she  is,"  I  said,  "go  and  ask  her  about  those 
drawings." 

"But  if  she  is  not,  ...  I  cannot  tell  you  /"he  flashed 
out. 

"Let  us  shake  hands,  Kelly,"  I  said,  .  .  .  "and  be 
very  good  friends.  Will  you?" 

He  gave  me  his  hand  rather  shyly. 

"We  will  never  speak  of  her  again,"  I  said,  .  .  . 
"  unless  you  desire  it.  You  have  had  a  terrible  lesson 
in  caution ;  I  need  say  no  more.  Only  remember  that 
I  have  trusted  you  with  a  secret  concerning  Buck- 
hurst's  conspiracy." 

His  firm  hand  tightened  on  mine,  then  he  walked 
away,  steadily,  head  high.  And  I  went  out  to  saddle 
my  horse  for  a  canter  across  the  moor  to  Point  Paradise. 

It  was  a  gray  day,  with  a  hint  of  winter  in  the  air, 
and  a  wind  that  set  the  gorse  rustling  like  tissue-paper. 
Up  aloft  the  sun  glimmered,  a  white  spot  in  a  silvery 
smother;  pale  lights  lay  on  moorland  and  water;  the 
sea  tumbled  over  the  bar,  boiling  like  a  flood  of  liquid 
lead  from  which  the  spindrift  curled  and  blew  into  a 
haze  that  buried  the  island  of  Groix  and  turned  the 
anchored  iron-clad  to  a  phantom. 

A  day  for  a  gallop,  if  ever  there  was  such  a  day ! — a 
day  to  wash  out  care  from  a  troubled  mind  and  cleanse 
it  in  the  whipping,  reeking,  wet  east  wind — a  day  for  a 

258 


FOREWARNED 

fox !  And  I  rose  in  my  saddle  and  shouted  aloud  as  a 
red  fox  shot  out  of  the  gorse  and  galloped  away  across 
the  endless  moorland,  with  the  feathers  of  a  mallard 
still  sticking  to  his  whiskers. 

Oh,  what  a  gallop,  with  risk  enough,  too;  for  I  did 
not  know  the  coast  moors ;  and  the  deep  clefts  from  the 
cliffs  cut  far  inland,  so  that  eye  and  ear  and  bridle- 
hand  were  tense  and  ready  to  catch  danger  ere  it  in- 
gulfed us  in  some  sea-churned  crevice  hidden  by  the 
bracken.  And  how  the  gray  gulls  squealed,  high 
whirling  over  us,  and  the  wild  ducks  in  the  sedge  rose 
with  clapping  wings,  craning  their  necks,  only  to  swing 
overhead  in  circles,  whimpering,  and  drop,  with  pen- 
dent legs  and  wings  aslant,  back  into  the  bog  from 
which  we  startled  them. 

A  ride  into  an  endless  gray  land,  sweet  with  sea- 
scents,  rank  with  the  perfume  of  salty  green  things; 
a  ride  into  a  land  of  gushing  winds,  wet  as  spray,  strong 
and  caressing,  too,  and  full  of  mischief ;  winds  that  set 
miles  of  sedge  rippling ;  sudden  winds,  that  turned  still 
pools  to  geysers  and  set  the  yellow  gorse  flowers  fly- 
ing; winds  that  rushed  up  with  a  sea-roar  like  the 
sound  in  shells,  then,  sudden,  died  away,  to  leave  the 
furrowed  clover  motionless  and  the  tall  reeds  still  as 
death. 

So,  by  strange  ways  and  eccentric  circles,  like  the 
aerial  paths  of  homing  sea-birds,  I  came  at  last  to 
the  spot  I  had  set  out  for,  consciously;  yet  it  sur- 
prised me  to  find  I  had  come  there. 

Before  I  crossed  the  little  bridge  I  scented  the  big 
orange -tinted  tea-roses  and  the  pinks.  Leaves  on 
apricots  were  falling ;  the  fig-tree  was  bare  of  verdure, 
and  the  wind  chased  the  big,  bronzed  leaves  across  the 
beds  of  herbs,  piling  them  into  heaps  at  the  base  of  the 
granite  wall. 

A  boy  took  my  horse ;  a  servant  in  full  Breton  costume 

259 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

admitted  me;  the  velvet  humming  of  Sylvia  Elven's 
spinning-wheel  filled  the  silence,  like  the  whirring  of  a 
great,  soft  moth  imprisoned  in  a  room : 

"  Woe  to  the  Maids  of  Paradise. 

Yvonne  I 
Twice  have  the  Saxons  landed — twice  I 

Yvonne  1 
Yet  shall  Paradise  see  them  thrice ! 

Yvonne  1     Yvonne  I     Marivonik  I 

"  Fair  is  their  hair  and  blue  their  eyes, 

Yvonne  1 
Body  o'  me  1  their  words  are  lies, 

Yvonne ! 
Maids  of  Paradise,  oh,  be  wise ! 

Yvonne  I     Yvonne  I    Marivonik  I" 

The  door  swung  open  noiselessly;  the  whir  of  the 
wheel  and  the  sound  of  the  song  filled  the  room  for  an 
instant,  then  was  shut  out  as  the  Countess  de  Vassart 
closed  the  door  and  came  forward  to  greet  me. 

In  her  pretty,  soft  gown,  with  a  tint  of  blue  ribbon  at 
the  neck  and  shoulders,  she  seemed  scarcely  older  than 
a  school-girl,  so  radiant,  so  sweet  and  fresh  she  stood 
there,  giving  me  her  little  hand  to  touch  in  friendship. 

"  It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said ;  "  I  know 
you  made  it  a  duty  and  gave  up  a  glorious  gallop  to  be 
amiable  to  me.  Did  you?" 

I  tried  to  say  something,  but  her  loveliness  confused 
me. 

Somebody  brought  tea — I  don't  know  who;  all  I 
could  see  clearly  was  her  gray  eyes  meeting  mine — 
the  light  from  the  leaded  window  touching  her  glori- 
ous, ruddy  hair. 

As  for  the  tea,  I  took  whatever  she  offered  ;  doubtless 
I  drank  it,  but  I  don't  remember.  Nor  do  I  remember 
what  she  said  at  first,  for  somehow  I  began  thinking 
about  my  lions,  and  the  thought  obsessed  me  even  while 

260 


FOREWARNED 

striving  to  listen  to  her,  even  in  the  tingling  maze  of 
other  thoughts  which  kept  me  dumb  under  the  ex- 
quisite spell  of  this  intimacy  with  her. 

The  delicate  odor  of  ripened  herbs  stole  into  the  room 
from  the  garden;  far  away,  through  the  whispering 
whir  of  the  spinning-wheel,  I  heard  the  sea. 

"  Do  you  like  Sylvia's  song?"  she  asked,  turning  her 
head  to  listen.  "  It  is  a  very  old  song — a  very,  very 
old  one  —  centuries  old.  It's  all  about  the  English, 
how  they  came  to  harry  our  coasts  in  those  days — and 
it  has  almost  a  hundred  verses!"  Something  of  the 
Bretonne  came  into  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  that  shad- 
ow of  sadness,  that  patient  fatalism  in  which,  too,  there 
is  something  of  distrust.  The  next  instant  her  eyes 
cleared  and  she  smiled. 

"  The  Tr6courts  suffered  much  from  the  English  raid- 
ers. I  am  a  Tr£court,  you  know.  That  song  was  made 
about  us — about  a  young  girl,  Yvonne  de  Trecourt,  who 
was  carried  away  by  the  English.  She  was  foolish ;  she 
had  a  lover  among  the  Saxons,  .  .  .  and  she  set  a  signal 
for  him,  and  they  came  and  sacked  the  town,  and  carried 
her  away,  and  that  was  what  she  got  for  her  folly." 

She  bent  her  head  thoughtfully;  the  sound  of  the 
sea  grew  louder  in  the  room;  a  yellow  light  stole  out 
of  the  west  and  touched  the  window-panes,  slowly 
deepening  to  orange;  against  it  the  fruit  trees  stood, 
a  leafless  tracery  of  fragile  branches. 

"It  is  the  winter  awaking,  very  far  away,"  she 
said,  under  her  breath. 

Something  in  the  hollow  monotone  of  the  sea  made 
me  think  again  of  the  low  grumble  of  restless  lions. 
The  sound  was  hateful.  Why  should  it  steal  in  here 
— why  haunt  me  even  in  this  one  spot  in  all  the  world 
where  a  world-tired  man  had  found  a  moment's  peace 
in  a  woman's  eyes. 

"Are  you  troubled?"  she  asked,  then  colored  at  her 

261 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

own  question,  as  though  deeming  the  impulse  to  speak 
unwarranted. 

"No,  not  troubled.  Happiness  is  often  edged  with 
a  shadow.  I  am  content  to  be  here." 

She  bent  her  head  and  looked  at  the  heavy  rose 
lying  in  solitary  splendor  on  the  table.  The  polished 
wood  reflected  it  in  subdued  tints  of  saffron. 

"It  is  a  strange  friendship,"  I  said. 

"Ours?  .  .  .  yes." 

I  said,  musing:  "To  me  it  is  like  magic.  I  scarce 
dare  speak,  scarce  breathe,  lest  the  spell  break." 

She  was  silent. 

" — Lest  the  spell  break — and  this  house,  this  room, 
fade  away,  leaving  me  alon0.  staring  at  the  world  once 
more." 

"  If  there  is  a  spell,  you  have  cast  it,"  she  said, laugh- 
ing at  my  sober  face.  "  A  wizard  ought  to  be  able  to 
make  his  spells  endure." 

Then  her  face  grew  graver.  "  You  must  forget  the 
past,"  she  said;  "you  must  forget  all  that  was  cruel 
and  false  and  unhappy,  .  .  .  will  you  not?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"  I,  too,"  she  said,  "  have  much  to  forget  and  much 
to  hope  for ;  and  you  taught  me  how  to  forget  and  how 
to  hope." 

"I,  madame?" 

"  Yes,  ...  at  La  Trappe,  at  Morsbronn,  and  here. 
Look  at  me.  Have  I  not  changed?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  fascinated. 

"I  know  I  have,"  she  said,  as  though  speaking  to 
herself.  "  Life  means  more  now.  Somehow  my  child- 
hood seems  to  have  returned,  with  all  its  hope  of  the 
world  and  all  its  confidence  in  the  world,  and  its  cer- 
tainty that  all  will  be  right.  Years  have  fallen  from 
my  shoulders  like  a  released  burden  that  was  crush- 
ing me  to  my  knees.  I  have  awakened  from  a  dream 

262 


FOREWARNED 

that  was  not  life  at  all,  ...  a  dream  in  which  I,  alone, 
staggered  through  darkness,  bearing  the  world  on  my 
shoulders — the  world  doubly  weighted  with  the  sorrows 
of  mankind,  ...  a  dream  that  lasted  years,  but  .  .  .  you 
awoke  me." 

She  leaned  forward  and  lifted  the  rose,  touching  her 
face  with  it. 

"  It  was  so  simple,  after  all — this  secret  of  the  world's 
malady.  You  read  it  for  me.  I  know  now  what  is 
written  on  the  eternal  tablets — to  live  one's  own  life 
as  it  is  given,  in  honor,  charity,  without  malice;  to 
seek  happiness  where  it  is  offered;  to  share  it  when 
possible;  to  uplift.  But,  most  of  all,  to  be  happy  and 
accept  happiness  as  a  heavenly  gift  that  is  to  be  shared 
with  as  many  as  possible.  And  this  I  have  learned 
since  ...  I  knew  you." 

The  light  in  the  room  had  grown  dimmer;  I  leaned 
forward  to  see  her  face. 

"Am  I  not  right?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  so.  ...  I  am  learning  from  you." 

"But  you  taught  this  creed  to  me!"  she  cried. 

"  No,  you  are  teaching  it  to  me.  And  the  first  lesson 
was  a  gift,  .  .  .  your  friendship." 

"Freely  given,  gladly  given,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"And  yours  I  have  in  return,  .  .  .  and  will  keep  al- 
ways— always — " 

She  crushed  the  rose  against  her  mouth,  looking  at 
me  with  inscrutable  gray  eyes,  as  I  had  seen  her  look 
at  me  once  at  La  Trappe,  once  in  Morsbronn. 

I  picked  up  my  gloves  and  riding-crop;  as  I  rose  she 
stood  up  in  the  dusk,  looking  straight  at  me. 

I  said  something  about  Sylvia  Elven  and  my  com- 
pliments to  her,  something  else  about  the  happiness 
I  felt  at  coming  to  the  chateau  again,  something  about 
her  own  goodness  to  me — Heaven  knows  what! — and 
she  gave  me  her  hand  and  I  held  it  a  moment. 

263 


THE    MAIDS    OF   PARADISE 

''Will  you  come  again?"  she  asked. 

I  stammered  a  promise  and  made  my  way  blindly  to 
the  door  which  a  servant  threw  open,  flung  myself 
astride  my  horse,  and  galloped  out  into  the  waste  of 
moorland,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing  save  the 
low  roar  of  the  sea,  like  the  growl  of  restless  lions. 


XVI 

A  RESTLESS  MAN 

WHEN  I  came  into  camp,  late  that  afternoon,  I 
found  Byram  and  Speed  groping  about  among 
a  mass  of  newspapers  and  letters,  the  first  mail  we  cir- 
cus people  had  received  for  nearly  two  months. 

There  were  letters  for  all  who  were  accustomed  to 
look  for  letters  from  families,  relatives,  or  friends  at 
home.  I  never  received  letters — I  had  received  none 
of  that  kind  in  nearly  a  score  of  years,  yet  that  curious 
habit  of  expectancy  had  not  perished  in  me,  and  I 
found  myself  standing  with  the  others  while  Byram 
distributed  the  letters,  one  by  one,  until  the  last  home- 
stamped  envelope  had  been  given  out,  and  all  around 
me  the  happy  circus-folk  were  reading  in  homesick 
contentment.  I  know  of  no  lonelier  man  than  he  who 
lingers  empty-handed  among  those  who  pore  over  the 
home  mail. 

But  there  were  newspapers  enough  and  to  spare — 
French,  English,  American;  and  I  sat  down  by  my 
lion's  cage  and  attempted  to  form  some  opinion  of  the 
state  of  affairs  in  France.  And,  as  far  as  I  could  read 
between  the  lines,  this  is  what  I  gathered,  partly  from 
my  own  knowledge  of  past  events,  partly  from  the 
foreign  papers,  particularly  the  English: 

When,  on  the  3d  of  September,  the  humiliating  news 
arrived  that  the  Emperor  was  a  prisoner  and  his  army 
annihilated,  the  government,  for  the  first  time  in  its  ex- 

265 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

istence,  acted  with  promptness  and  decision  in  a  matter 
of  importance.  Secret  orders  were  sent  by  couriers  to 
the  Bank  of  France,  to  the  Louvre,  and  to  the  Invalides ; 
and,  that  same  night,  train  after  train  rushed  out  of 
Paris  loaded  with  the  battle-flags  from  the  Invalides, 
the  most  important  pictures  and  antique  sculptures 
from  the  Louvre,  the  greater  part  of  the  gold  and  silver 
from  the  Bank  of  France,  and,  last  but  by  no  means 
least,  the  crown  and  jewels  of  France. 

This  Speed  and  I  already  knew. 

These  trains  were  despatched  to  Brest,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  telegram  was  directed  to  the  admiral  com- 
manding the  French  iron-clad  fleet  in  the  Baltic  to  send 
an  armored  cruiser  to  Brest  with  all  haste  possible, 
there  to  await  further  orders,  but  to  be  fully  prepared 
in  any  event  to  take  on  board  certain  goods  designated 
in  cipher.  This  we  knew  in  a  general  way,  though 
Speed  understood  that  Lorient  was  to  be  the  port  of 
departure. 

The  plan  was  a  good  one  and  apparently  simple; 
and  there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt  that  jewels,  battle- 
flags,  pictures,  and  coin  were  already  beyond  danger 
from  the  German  armies,  now  plodding  cautiously 
southward  toward  the  capital,  which  was  slowly  re- 
covering from  its  revolutionary  convulsions  and  pre- 
paring for  a  siege. 

The  plan,  then,  was  simple ;  but,  for  an  equally  simple 
reason,  it  miscarried  in  the  following  manner.  Early 
in  August,  while  the  French  armies  from  the  Rhine 
to  the  Meuse  were  being  punished  with  frightful 
regularity  and  precision,  the  French  Mediterranean 
squadron  had  sailed  up  and  down  that  interesting 
expanse  of  water,  apparently  in  patriotic  imitation  of 
the  historic 

"King  of  France  and  twenty  thousand  men." 
266 


A    RESTLESS   MAN 

For,  it  now  appeared,  the  French  admiral  was  afraid 
that  the  Spanish  navy  might  aid  the  German  ships  in 
harassing  the  French  transports,  which  at  that  time 
were  frantically  engaged  in  ferrying  a  sea-sick  Algerian 
army  across  the  Mediterranean  to  the  mother  country. 

Of  course  there  was  no  ground  for  the  admiral's  sus- 
picions. The  German  war-ships  stayed  in  their  o\vn 
harbors,  the  Spaniards  made  no  offensive  alliance  with 
Prussia,  and  at  length  the  French  admiral  sailed  tri- 
umphantly away  with  his  battle-ships  and  cruisers. 

On  the  yth  of  August  the  squadron  of  four  battle- 
ships, two  armored  corvettes,  and  a  despatch  -  boat 
steamed  out  of  Brest,  picking  up  on  its  way  north- 
ward three  more  iron-clad  frigates,  and  several  cruisers 
and  despatch-boats;  and  on  the  nth  of  August.  1870, 
the  squadron  anchored  off  Heligoland,  from  whence 
Admiral  Fourichon  proclaimed  the  blockade  of  the 
German  coast. 

It  must  have  been  an  imposing  sight!  There  lay 
the  great  iron-clads,  the  Magnanime,  the  Heroine,  the 
Provence,  the  Valeureuse,  the  Revanche,  the  Invincible, 
the  Couronne!  There  lay  the  cruisers,  the  Atalante, 
the  Renaud,  the  Cosmao,  the  Decres !  There,  too,  lay 
the  single-screw  despatch  -  boats  Reine-Hortense,  Re- 
nard,  and  Dayot.  And  upon  their  armored  decks, 
three  by  three,  stalked  the  French  admirals.  Yet, 
without  cynicism,  it  may  be  said  that  the  admirals  of 
France  fought  better,  in  1870,  on  dry  land  than  they  did 
on  the  ocean. 

However,  the  German  ships  stayed  peacefully  inside 
their  fortified  ports,  and  the  three  French  admirals 
pranced  peacefully  up  and  down  outside,  until  the  God 
of  battles  intervened  and  trouble  naturally  ensued. 

On  the  6th  of  September  all  the  seas  of  Europe  were 
set  clashing  under  a  cyclone  that  rose  to  a  howling 
hurricane.  The  British  iron-clad  Captain  foundered 

267 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

off  Finistere;  the  French  fleet  in  the  Baltic  was  scat- 
tered to  the  four  winds. 

In  the  midst  of  the  tempest  a  French  despatch-boat, 
the  Hirondelle,  staggered  into  sight,  signalling  the 
flag-ship.  Then  the  French  admiral  for  the  first  time 
learned  the  heart-breaking  news  of  Sedan,  and  as  the 
tempest  -  tortured  battle -ship  drove  seaward  the  sig- 
nals went  up :  "  Make  for  Brest!"  The  blockade  of  the 
German  coast  was  at  an  end. 

On  the  4th  of  September  the  treasure  -  laden  trains 
had  left  Paris  for  Brest.  On  the  5th  the  Hirondelle 
-steamed  out  towards  the  fleet  with  the  news  from  Sedan 
and  the  orders  for  the  detachment  of  a  cruiser  to  receive 
the  crown  jewels.  On  the  6th  the  news  and  the  orders 
were  signalled  to  the  flag-ship;  but  the  God  of  battles 
unchained  a  tempest  which  countermanded  the  order 
and  hurled  the  iron-clads  into  outer  darkness. 

Some  of  the  ships  crept  into  English  ports,  burning 
their  last  lumps  of  coal,  some  drifted  into  Dunkerque; 
but  the  flag-ship  disappeared  for  nine  long  days,  at 
last  to  reappear  off  Cherbourg,  a  stricken  thing  with  a 
stricken  crew  and  an  admiral  broken-hearted. 

So,  for  days  and  days,  the  treasure-laden  trains  must 
have  stood  helpless  in  the  station  at  Brest,  awaiting  the 
cruiser  that  did  not  come. 

On  the  1 7th  of  September  the  French  Channel 
squadron,  of  seven  heavy  iron-clads,  unexpectedly 
steamed  into  Lorient  harbor  and  dropped  anchor  amid 
thundering  salutes  from  the  forts;  and  the  next  day 
one  of  the  treasure-trains  came  flying  into  Lorient, 
to  the  unspeakable  relief  of  the  authorities  in  the  be- 
leaguered capital. 

Speed  and  I  already  knew  the  secret  orders  sent. 
The  treasures,  including  the  crown  diamonds,  were  to 
be  stored  in  the  citadel,  and  an  armored  cruiser  was 
to  lie  off  the  arsenal  with  banked  fires,  ready  to  receive 

268 


A   RESTLESS   MAN 

the  treasures  at  the  first  signal  and  steam  to  the  French 
fortified  port  of  Saigon  in  Cochin  China,  by  a  course 
already  determined. 

Why  on  earth  those  orders  had  been  changed  so  that 
the  cruiser  was  to  lie  off  Groix  I  could  not  imagine, 
unless  some  plot  had  been  discovered  in  Lorient  which 
had  made  it  advisable  to  shift  the  location  of  the  treas- 
ures for  the  third  time. 

Pondering  there  at  the  tent  door,  amid  my  heap  of 
musty  newspapers,  I  looked  out  into  the  late,  gray 
afternoon  and  saw  the  maids  of  Paradise  passing  and 
repassing  across  the  bridge  with  a  clicking  of  wooden 
shoes  and  white  head-dresses  glimmering  in  the  dusk 
of  the  trees. 

The  town  had  filled  within  a  day  or  two ;  the  Paradise 
coiffe  was  not  the  only  coiffe  to  be  seen  in  the  square; 
there  was  the  delicate-winged  head-dress  of  Faouet,  the 
beautiful  coiffes  of  Rosporden,  Sainte-Anne  d'Auray, 
and  Pont  Aven ;  there,  too,  flashed  the  scarlet  skirts  of 
Bannalec  and  the  gorgeous  embroidered  bodices  of  the 
interior;  there  were  the  men  of  Quimperle1  in  velvet, 
the  men  of  Penmarch,  the  men  of  Faouet  with  their 
dark,  Spanish-like  faces  and  their  sombreros,  and  their 
short  yellow  jackets  and  leggings.  All  in  holiday  cos- 
tume, too,  for  the  maids  were  stiff  in  silver  and  lace, 
and  the  men  wore  carved  sabots  and  embroidered  gilets. 

"Governor,"  I  called  out  to  Byram,  "the  town  is 
filling  fast.  It's  like  a  Pardon  in  Morbihan;  we'll 
pack  the  old  tent  to  the  nigger's-heaven!" 

"It's  a  fact,"  he  said,  pushing  his  glasses  up  over 
his  forehead  and  fanning  his  face  with  his  silk  hat. 
"We're  going  to  open  to  a  lot  of  money,  Mr.  Scarlett, 
and  ...  I  ain't  goin'  to  forgit  them  that  stood  by  me, 
neither." 

He  placed  a  heavy  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and,  stoop- 
ing, peered  into  my  face. 

269 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

"Air  you  sick,  m'  friend?"  he  asked. 

"I,  governor?     Why,  no." 

"Ain't  been  bit  by  that  there  paltry  camuel  nor 
nothin',  hev  ye?" 

"No;  do  I  look  ill?" 

"  Peaked — kind  o'  peaked.  White,  with  dark  succles 
under  your  eyes.  Air  you  nervous?" 

"  About  the  lions?  Oh  no.  Don't  worry  about  me, 
governor." 

He  sighed,  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  blew  his 
nose. 

"  Mr.  Speed — he's  worriting,  too ;  he  says  that  Em- 
press Khatoun  means  to  hev  ye  one  o'  these  days." 

"You  tell  Mr.  Speed  to  worry  over  his  own  affairs 
— that  child,  Jacqueline,  for  instance.  I  suppose  she 
made  her  jump  without  trouble  to-day?  I  was  too 
nervous  to  stay  and  watch  her." 

"M'  friend,"  said  Byram,  in  solemn  ecstasy,  "I 
take  off  my  hat  to  that  there  idd!"  And  he  did  so 
with  a  flourish.  "You  orter  seen  her;  she  hung  on 
that  flying  trap,  jest  as  easy  an'  sassy!  We  was  all 
half  crazy.  Speed  he  grew  blue  around  the  gills; 
Miss  Crystal,  a-swingin'  there  in  the  riggin'  by  her 
knees,  kept  a  swallerin'  an'  lickin'  her  lips,  she  was 
that  scared. 

"'  Ready?'  she  calls  out  in  a  sort  o'  quaver. 

"  'Ready!'  sez  little  Jacqueline,  cool  as  ice,  swingin' 
by  her  knees.  'Go!'  sez  Miss  Crystal,  an'  the  kid  let 
go,  an'  Miss  Crystal  grabbed  her  by  the  ankles. 
'Ready?'  calls  up  Speed,  beside  the  tank. 

"'Ready!'  sez  the  kid,  smilin'.  ' Drop!'  cries  Speed. 
An'  Jacqueline  shot  down  like  a  blazing  star — whir! 
swishl  splash!  All  over!  An'  that  there  nervy  kid 
a  floatin'  an'  a  sportin'  like  a  minnie-fish  at  t'other 
end  o'  the  tank!  Oh,  gosh,  but  it  was  grand!  It  was 
iest— " 

270 


A   RESTLESS    MAN 

Speech  failed;  he  walked  away,  waving  his  arms, 
his  rusty  silk  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

A  few  moments  later  drums  began  to  roll  from  the 
square.  Speed,  passing,  called  out  to  me  that  the  con- 
scripts were  leaving  for  Lorient;  so  I  walked  down  to 
the  bridge,  where  the  crowd  had  gathered  and  where 
a  tall  gendarme  stood,  his  blue  -  and  -  white  uniform 
distinct  in  the  early  evening  light.  The  mayor  was 
there,  too,  dressed  in  his  best,  waddling  excitedly  about, 
and  buttonholing  at  intervals  a  young  lieutenant  of 
infantry,  who  appeared  to  be  extremely  bored. 

There  were  the  conscripts  of  the  Garde  Mobile,  an 
anxious  peasant  rabble,  awkward,  resigned,  docile 
as  cattle.  Here  stood  a  fanner,  reeking  of  his  barn- 
yard ;  here  two  woodsmen  from  the  forest,  belted  and 
lean;  but  the  majority  were  men  of  the  sea.  heavy- 
limbed,  sun-scorched  fellows,  with  little,  keen  eyes  al- 
ways half  closed,  and  big,  helpless  fists  hanging.  Some 
carried  their  packets  slung  from  hip  to  shoulder,  some 
tied  their  parcels  to  the  muzzles  of  their  obsolete  mus- 
kets. A  number  wore  the  boatman's  smock,  others 
the  farmer's  blouse  of  linen,  but  the  greater  number 
were  clad  in  the  blue-wool  jersey  and  cloth  be'ret  of  the 
sailor. 

Husbands,  sons,  lovers,  looked  silently  at  the  women. 
The  men  uttered  no  protest,  no  reproach;  the  women 
wept  very  quietly.  In  their  hearts  that  strange  mys- 
ticism of  the  race  predominated — the  hopeless  accept- 
ance of  a  destiny  which  has,  for  centuries,  left  its  im- 
print in  the  sad  eyes  of  the  Breton.  Generations  of 
martyrdom  leave  a  cowed  and  spiritually  fatigued  race 
which  breeds  stoics. 

Like  great  white  blossoms,  the  spotless  head-dresses 
of  the  maids  of  Paradise  swayed  and  bowed  above 
the  crowd. 

A  little  old  woman  stood   beside  a  sailor,  saying 

271 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

to  anybody  who  would  listen  to  her:  "My  son  — 
they  are  taking  my  son.  Why  should  they  take  my 
son?" 

Another  said:  "They  are  taking  mine,  too,  but 
he  cannot  fight  on  land.  He  knows  the  sea;  he  is 
not  afraid  at  sea.  Can  nobody  help  us?  He  cannot 
fight  on  land;  he  does  not  know  how!" 

A  woman  carrying  a  sleeping  baby  stood  beside 
the  drummers  at  the  fountain.  Five  children  dragged 
at  her  skirts  and  peered  up  at  the  mayor,  who  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  shook  his  fat  head. 

"What  can  I  do?  He  must  march  with  the  others, 
your  man,"  said  the  mayor,  again  and  again.  But 
the  woman  with  the  baby  never  ceased  her  eternal 
question:  "What  can  we  live  on  if  you  take  him? 
I  do  not  mean  to  complain  too  much,  but  we  have  noth- 
ing. What  can  we  live  on,  m'sieu  the  mayor?" 

But  now  the  drummers  had  stepped  out  into  the 
centre  of  the  square  and  were  drawing  their  drum- 
sticks from  the  brass  sockets  in  their  baldricks. 

"Good-bye!  Good-bye!"  sobbed  the  maids  of  Para- 
dise, giving  both  hands  to  their  lovers.  "We  will 
pray  for  you!" 

"  Pray  for  us,"  said  the  men,  holding  their  sweet- 
hearts' hands. 

"Attention!"  cried  the  officer,  a  slim,  hectic  lieu- 
tenant from  Lorient. 

The  mayor  handed  him  the  rolls,  and  the  lieutenant, 
facing  the  shuffling  single  rank,  began  to  call  off: 

"Roux  of  Bannalec?" 

"  Here,  monsieur — " 

"Don't  say,  'Here,  monsieur!'  Say,  'Present!' 
Now,  Roux?" 

"Present,  monsieur — " 

"Idiot!     Kedrec?" 

"Present!" 

272 


A    RESTLESS   MAN 

"That's  right!     Penmarch?" 

"Present!" 

"Rhuis    of    Sainte-Yssel?" 

"Present!" 

"Kerre"  of  Paradise  Beacon?" 

"Present!" 

"Laenec?" 

"Present!" 

"Duhamel?" 

"Present!" 

The  officer  moistened  his  lips,  turned  the  page,  and 
continued : 

"Carnac  of  Alincourt?" 

There  was  a  silence,  then  a  voice  cried,  "Crippled!" 

"Mark  him  off,  lieutenant,"  said  the  mayor,  pom- 
pously; "he's  our  little  hunchback." 

"  Shall  I  mark  you  in  his  place?"  asked  the  lieutenant, 
with  a  smile  that  turned  the  mayor's  blood  to  water. 
"No?  You  would  make  a  fine  figure  for  a  forlorn 
hope." 

A  man  burst  out  laughing,  but  he  was  half  crazed 
with  grief,  and  his  acrid  mirth  found  no  response. 
Then  the  roll-call  was  resumed: 

"Gestel?" 

"Present!" 

"Garenne!" 

There  was  another  silence. 

"Robert  Garenne!"  repeated  the  officer,  sharply. 
"  Monsieur  the  mayor  has  informed  me  that  you  are 
liable  for  military  duty.  If  you  are  present,  answer 
to  your  name  or  take  the  consequences!" 

The  poacher,  who  had  been  lounging  on  the  bridge, 
slouched  slowly  forward  and  touched  his  cap. 

"I  am  organizing  a  franc  corps,"  he  said,  with  a 
deadly  sidelong  glance  at  the  mayor,  who  now  stood 
beside  the  lieutenant. 

18  273 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"You  can  explain  that  at  Lorient,"  replied  the  lieu- 
tenant. "Fall  in  there!" 

"But  I—" 

"Fall  in!"  repeated  the  lieutenant. 

The  poacher's  visage  became  inflamed.  He  hesitat- 
ed, looking  around  for  an  avenue  of  escape.  Then 
he  caught  my  disgusted  eye. 

"For  the  last  time,"  said  the  lieutenant,  coolly  draw- 
ing his  revolver,  "  I  order  you  to  fall  in!" 

The  poacher  backed  into  the  straggling  rank,  glaring. 

"Now,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "you  may  go  to  your 
house  and  get  your  packet.  If  we  have  left  when  you 
return,  follow  and  report  at  the  arsenal  in  Lorient. 
Fallout!  March!" 

The  poacher  backed  out  to  the  rear  of  the  rank, 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode  away  towards  the  coast, 
clinched  fists  swinging  by  his  side. 

There  were  not  many  names  on  the  roll,  and  the  call 
was  quickly  finished.  And  now  the  infantry  drum- 
mers raised  their  sticks  high  in  the  air,  there  was  a 
sharp  click,  a  crash,  and  the  square  echoed. 

"March!"  cried  the  officer;  and,  drummers  ahead, 
the  long  single  rank  shuffled  into  fours,  and  the  column 
started,  enveloped  in  a  throng  of  women  and  children. 

"Good-bye!"  sobbed  the  women.     "We  will  pray!" 

"Good-bye!     Pray!" 

The  crowd  pressed  on  into  the  dusk.  Far  up  the 
darkening  road  the  white  coiffes  of  the  women  glim- 
mered; the  drum-roll  softened  to  a  distant  humming. 

The  children,  who  did  not  understand,  had  gathered 
around  a  hunchback,  the  exempt  cripple  of  the  roll- 
call. 

"Ho!  Fois!"  I  heard  him  say  to  the  crowd  of  won- 
dering little  ones,  "  if  I  were  not  exempt  I'd  teach  these 
Prussians  to  dance  the  farandole  to  my  biniou! 
Oui,  dame!  And  perhaps  I'll  do  it  yet,  spite  of  the 

274 


A    RESTLESS   MAN 

crooked  back  I  was  not  born  with — as  everybody  knows! 
Oui,  dame!  Everybody  knows  I  was  born  as  straight 
as  the  next  man!" 

The  children  gaped,  listening  to  the  distant  drum- 
ming, now  almost  inaudible. 

The  cripple  rose,  lighted  a  lantern,  and  walked  slowly 
out  toward  the  cliffs,  carrying  himself  with  that  un- 
canny dignity  peculiar  to  hunchbacks.  And  as  he 
walked  he  sang,  in  his  thin,  sharp  voice,  the  air  of 
"The  Three  Captains": 

"  J'ai  eu  dans  son  cceur  la  plac'  la  plus  belle, 

La  plac'  la  plus  belle. 
J'ai  passe  trois  ans,  trois  ans  avec  elle. 

Trois  ans  avec  elle. 
J'ai  eu  trois  enfants  qui  sont  capitaines, 

Qui  sont  capitaines. 
L'un  est  a  Bordeaux,  1'autre  a  la  Rochelle, 

L'autre  a  la  Rochelle. 
Le  troisi^me  ici,  caressent  les  belles, 

Caressent  les  belles.' 

Far  out  across  the  shadowy  cliffs  I  heard  his  lingering, 
strident  chant,  and  caught  the  spark  of  his  lantern ; 
then  silence  and  darkness  fell  over  the  deserted  square ; 
the  awed  children,  fingers  interlocked,  crept  home- 
ward through  the  dusk;  there  was  no  sound  save  the 
rippling  wash  of  the  river  along  the  quay  of  stone. 

Tired,  a  trifle  sad,  thinking  perhaps  of  those  home 
letters  which  had  come  to  all  save  me,  I  leaned  against 
the  river  wall,  staring  at  the  darkness;  and  over  me 
came  creeping  that  apathy  which  I  had  already  learned 
to  recognize  and  even  welcome  as  a  mental  anaesthetic 
which  set  that  dark  sentinel,  care,  a-drowsing. 

What  did  I  care,  after  all?  Life  had  stopped  for  me 
years  before;  there  was  left  only  a  shell  in  which  that 
unseen  little  trickster,  the  heart,  kept  tap-tapping 
away  against  a  tired  body.  Was  that  what  we  call 
life?  The  sorry  parody! 

275 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

A  shape  slunk  near  me  through  the  dusk,  furtive, 
uncertain.  "Lizard,"  I  said,  indifferently.  He  came 
up,  my  gun  on  his  ragged  shoulder. 

"You  go  with  your  class?"  I  asked. 

"No,  I  go  to  the  forest,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "You 
shall  hear  from  me." 

I  nodded. 

"Are  you  content?"  he  demanded,  lingering. 

The  creature  wanted  sympathy,  though  he  did  not 
know  it.  I  gave  him  my  hand  and  told  him  he  was  a 
brave  man;  and  he  went  away,  noiselessly,  leaving 
me  musing  by  the  river  wall. 

After  a  long  while — or  it  may  only  have  been  a  few 
minutes — the  square  began  to  fill  again  with  the  first 
groups  of  women,  children,  and  old  men  who  had 
escorted  the  departing  conscripts  a  little  way  on  their 
march  to  Lorient.  Back  they  came,  the  maids  of 
Paradise  silent,  tearful,  pitifully  acquiescent;  the 
women  of  Bannalec,  Faouet,  Rosporden,  Quimperle 
chattering  excitedly  about  the  scene  they  had  wit- 
nessed. The  square  began  to  fill;  lanterns  were 
lighted  around  the  fountain;  the  two  big  lamps  with 
their  brass  reflectors  in  front  of  the  mayor's  house 
illuminated  the  pavement  and  the  thin  tree-foliage 
with  a  yellow  radiance. 

The  chatter  grew  louder  as  new  groups  in  all  sorts 
of  gay  head-dresses  arrived;  laughter  began  to  be 
heard;  presently  the  squealing  of  the  biniou  pipes 
broke  out  from  the  bowling-green,  where,  high  on  a 
bench  supported  by  a  plank  laid  across  two  cider  bar- 
rels, the  hunchback  sat,  skirling  the  farandole.  Ah, 
what  a  world  entire  was  this  lost  little  hamlet  of  Para- 
dise, where  merrymakers  trod  on  the  mourners'  heels, 
where  the  scream  of  the  biniou  drowned  the  floating 
note  of  the  passing  bell,  where  Misery  drew  the  cur- 
tains of  her  bed  and  lay  sleepless,  listening  to  Gayety 

276 


A    RESTLESS   MAN 

dancing  breathless  to  the  patter  of  a  coquette's  wooden 
shoes ! 

Long  tables  were  improvised  in  the  square,  piled 
up  with  bread,  sardines,  puddings,  hams,  and  cakes. 
Casks  of  cider,  propped  on  skids,  dotted  the  outskirts 
of  the  bowling-green,  where  the  mayor,  enthroned  in 
his  own  arm-chair,  majestically  gave  his  orders  in  a 
voice  thickened  by  pork,  onions,  and  gravy. 

Truly  enough,  half  of  Finistere  and  Morbihan  was 
gathering  at  Paradise  for  a  fete.  The  slow  Breton 
imagination  had  been  fired  by  our  circus  bills  and 
posters;  ancient  Armorica  was  stirring  in  her  slum- 
ber, roused  to  consciousness  by  the  Yankee  bill- 
poster. 

At  the  inn  all  rooms  were  taken;  every  house  had 
become  an  inn;  barns,  stables,  granaries  had  their 
guests ;  fishermen's  huts  on  coast  and  cliff  were  bright 
with  coiffes  and  embroidered  jerseys. 

In  their  misfortune,  the  lonely  women  of  Paradise 
recognized  in  this  influx  a  godsend — a  few  francs  to 
gain  with  which  to  face  those  coming  wintry  months 
while  their  men  were  absent.  And  they  opened  their 
tiny  houses  to  those  who  asked  a  lodging. 

The  crowds  which  had  earlier  in  the  evening  gath- 
ered toi  gape  at  our  big  tent  were  now  noisiest  in  the 
square,  where  the  endless  drone  of  the  pipes  intoned 
the  farandole. 

A  few  of  our  circus  folk  had  come  down  to  enjoy  the 
picturesque  spectacle.  Speed,  standing  with  Jacque- 
line beside  me,  began  to  laugh  and  beat  time  to  the  wild 
music.  A  pretty  maid  of  Bannalec,  white  coiffe  and 
scarlet  skirts  a-flutter,  called  out  with  the  broad  free- 
dom of  the  chastest  of  nations :  "  There  is  the  lover  I 
could  pray  for — if  he  can  dance  the  farandole!" 

"I'll  show  you  whether  I  can  dance  the  farandole, 
ma  belle! "  cried  Speed,  and  caught  her  hand,  but  she 

277 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

snatched  her  brown  fingers  away  and  danced  off,  laugh- 
ing: "He  who  loves  must  follow,  follow,  follow  the 
farandole!" 

Speed  started  to  follow,  but  Jacqueline  laid  a  timid 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"I  dance,  M'sieu  Speed,"  she  said,  her  face  flush- 
ing under  her  elf-locks. 

"You  blessed  child,"  he  cried,  "you  shall  dance  till 
you  drop  to  your  knees  on  the  bowling-green !  "  And, 
hand  clasping  hand,  they  swung  out  into  the  faran- 
dole. For  an  instant  only  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jacque- 
line's blissful  face,  and  her  eyes  like  blue  stars  burning; 
then  they  darkened  into  silhouettes  against  the  yellow 
glare  of  the  lanterns  and  vanished. 

Byram  rambled  up  for  a  moment,  to  comment  on 
the  quaint  scene  from  a  showman's  point  of  view.  "  It 
would  fill  the  tent  in  old  Noo  York,  but  it's  n.  g.  in  this 
here  country,  where  everybody's  either  a  coryphee  or  a 
clown  or  a  pantaloon!  Camuels  ain't  nc  rara  a  vises 
in  the  Sairy,  an'  no  niggers  go  to  burnt-cork  shows. 
Phylosophy  is  the  thing,  Mr.  Scarlett!  Ruminate! 
Ruminate!  " 

I  promised  to  do  so,  and  the  old  man  rambled  away, 
coat  and  vest  on  his  arm,  silk  hat  cocked  over  his  left 
eye,  the  lamplight  shining  on  the  buckles  of  his  sus- 
penders. Dear  old  governor! — dear,  vulgar  incarna- 
tion of  those  fast  vanishing  pioneers  who  invented  civil- 
ization, finding  none;  who,  self-taught,  unashamed 
taught  their  children  the  only  truths  they  knew,  that 
the  nation  was  worthy  of  all  good,  all  devotion,  and  all 
knowledge  that  her  sons  could  bring  her  to  her  glory 
that  she  might  one  day  fulfil  her  destiny  as  greatest 
among  the  great  on  earth. 

The  whining  Breton  bagpipe  droned  in  my  ears ;  the 
dancers  flew  past;  laughter  and  cries  arose  from  the 
tables  in  the  square  where  the  curate  of  St.  Julien  stood, 

278 


A    RESTLESS    MAN 

forefinger  wagging,  soundly  rating  an  intoxicated  but 
apologetic  Breton  in  the  costume  of  Faouet. 

I  was  tired — tired  of  it  all;  weary  of  costumes  and 
strange  customs,  weary  of  strange  tongues,  of  tinsel 
and  mummers,  and  tarnished  finery;  sick  of  the  saw- 
dust and  the  rank  stench  of  beasts — and  the  vagabond 
life — and  the  hopeless  end  of  it  all — the  shabby  end  of 
a  useless  life — a  death  at  last  amid  strangers!  Sol- 
diers in  red  breeches,  peasants  in  embroidered  jackets, 
strolling  mountebanks  all  tinselled  and  rouged — they 
were  all  one  to  me.  ...  I  wanted  my  own  land.  ...  I 
wanted  my  own  people.  ...  I  wanted  to  go  home  .  .  . 
home! — and  die,  when  my  time  came,  under  the  skies 
I  knew  as  a  child,  .  .  .  under  that  familiar  moon  which 
once  silvered  my  nursery  windows.  .  .  . 

I  turned  away  across  the  bridge  out  into  the  dark 
road.  Long  before  I  came  to  the  smoky,  silent  camp  I 
heard  the  monotonous  roaring  of  my  lions,  pacing 
their  shadowy  dens. 


xvn 

THE  CIRCUS 

A  LITTLE  after  sunrise  on  the  day  set  for  our  first 
JT\  performance,  Speed  sauntered  into  my  dressing- 
room  in  excellent  humor,  saying  that  not  only  had  the 
village  of  Paradise  already  filled  up  with  the  peasantry 
of  Finistere  and  Morbihan,  but  every  outlying  hamlet 
from  St.  Julien  to  Pont  Aven  was  overflowing;  that 
many  had  even  camped  last  night  along  the  roadside ; 
in  short,  that  the  country  was  unmistakably  aroused  to 
the  importance  of  the  Anti-Prussian  Republican  circus 
and  the  Flying  Mermaid  of  Ker-Ys. 

I  listened  to  him  almost  indifferently,  saying  that  I 
was  very  glad  for  the  governor's  sake,  and  continued 
to  wash  a  deep  scratch  on  my  left  arm,  using  salt  water 
to  allay  the  irritation  left  by  Aicha's  closely  pared  claws 
— the  vixen. 

But  the  scratch  had  not  poisoned  me;  I  was  in  fine 
physical  condition ;  rehearsals  had  kept  us  all  in  trim ; 
our  animals,  too,  were  in  good  shape ;  and  the  machin- 
ery started  without  a  creak  when,  an  hour  later,  Byrarn 
himself  opened  the  box-office  at  the  tent-door  and  began 
to  sell  tickets  to  an  immense  crowd  for  the  first  perform- 
ance, which  was  set  for  two  o'clock  that  afternoon. 

I  had  had  an  unpleasant  hour's  work  with  the 
lions,  during  which  Marghouz,  a  beast  hitherto  lazy 
and  docile,  had  attempted  to  creep  behind  me.  Again 
I  had  betrayed  irritation;  again  the  lions  saw  it,  un- 

2$o 


THE    CIRCUS 

derstood  it,  and  remembered.  Aicha  tore  my  sleeve; 
when  I  dragged  Timour  Melek's  huge  jaws  apart  he 
endured  the  operation  patiently,  but  as  soon  as  I 
gave  the  signal  to  retire  he  sprang  snarling  to  the  floor, 
mane  on  end,  and  held  his  ground,  just  long  enough  to 
defy  me.  Poor  devils!  Who  but  I  knew  that  they  were 
right  and  I  was  wrong!  Who  but  I  understood  what 
lack  of  freedom  meant  to  the  strong — meant  to  caged 
creatures,  unrighteously  deprived  of  liberty!  Though 
born  in  captivity,  wild  things  change  nothing ;  they 
sleep  by  day,  walk  by  night,  follow  as  well  as  they  can 
the  instincts  which  a  caged  life  cannot  crush  in  them, 
nor  a  miserable,  artificial  existence  obliterate. 

They  are  right  to  resist. 

I  mentioned  something  of  this  to  Speed  as  I  was  put- 
ting on  my  coat  to  go  out,  but  he  only  scowled  at  me, 
saying:  "Your  usefulness  as  a  lion -tamer  is  ended, 
1113'  friend ;  you  are  a  fool  to  enter  that  cage  again,  and 
I'm  going  to  tell  Byram." 

"Don't  spoil  the  governor's  pleasure  now,"  I  said, 
irritably ;  "  the  old  man  is  out  there  selling  tickets  with 
both  hands,  while  little  Griggs  counts  receipts  in  a 
stage  whisper.  Let  him  alone,  Speed;  I'm  going  to 
give  it  up  soon,  anyway — not  now — not  while  the  gov- 
ernor has  a  chance  to  make  a  little  money ;  but  soon — 
very  soon.  You  are  right;  I  can't  control  anything 
now — not  even  myself.  I  must  give  up  my  lions,  after 
all." 

"When?"  said  Speed. 

"Soon— I  don't  know.  I'm  tired— really  tired.  I 
want  to  go  home." 

"Home!  Have  you  one?"  he  asked,  with  a  faint 
sneer  of  surprise. 

"  Yes ;  a  rather  extensive  lodging,  bounded  east  and 
west  by  two  oceans,  north  by  the  lakes,  south  by  the 
gulf.  Landlord's  a  relation — my  Uncle  Sam." 

281 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Are  you  really  going  home,  Scarlett?"  he  asked, 
curiously. 

"I  have  nothing  to  keep  me  here,  have  I?" 

"Not  unless  you  choose  to  settle  down  and  .  .  . 
marry." 

I  looked  at  him ;  presently  my  face  began  to  redden ; 
and,  "  What  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  angrily. 

He  replied,  in  a  very  mild  voice,  that  he  did  not  mean 
anything  that  might  irritate  me. 

I  said,  "  Speed,  don't  mind  my  temper ;  I  can't  seem 
to  help  it  any  more ;  something  has  changed  me,  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong." 

"Perhaps  something  has  gone  right,"  he  mused, 
looking  up  at  the  flying  trapeze,  where  Jacqueline 
swung  dangling  above  the  tank,  watching  us  with 
sea-blue  eyes. 

After  a  moment's  thought  I  said :  "  Speed,  what  the 
devil  do  you  mean  by  that  remark?" 

"  Now  you're  angry  again,"  he  said,  wearily. 

"No,  I'm  not.     Tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"Oh,  what  do  you  imagine  I  mean?"  he  retorted. 
"  Do  you  think  I'm  blind  ?  Do  you  suppose  I've  watched 
you  all  these  years  and  don't  know  you?  Am  I  an 
ass,  Scarlett?  Be  fair;  am  I?" 

"No;  not  an  ass,"  I  said. 

"Then  let  me  alone — unless  you  want  plain  speak- 
ing instead  of  a  bray." 

"I  do  want  it." 

"Which?" 

"You  know;  go  on." 

"Am  I  to  tell  you  the  truth?" 

"As  you  interpret  it — yes." 

"  Very  well,  my  friend ;  then,  at  your  respectful  re- 
quest, I  beg  to  inform  you  that  you  are  in  love  with 
Madame  de  Vassart — and  have  been  for  months." 

I  did  not  pretend  surprise ;  I  knew  he  was  going  to 
282 


THE    CIRCUS 

«ay  it.     Yet  it  enraged  me  that  he  should  think  it  and 
say  it. 

"You  are  wrong,"  I  said,  steadily. 

"No,  Scarlett;  I  am  right." 

"You  are  wrong,"  I  repeated. 

"Don't  say  that  again,"  he  retorted.  "If  you  do 
not  know  it,  you  ought  to.  Don't  be  unfair;  don't  be 
cowardly.  Face  it,  man!  By  Heaven,  you've  got  to 
face  it  some  time — here,  yonder,  abroad,  on  the  ocean, 
at  home — no  matter  where,  you've  got  to  face  it  some 
day  and  tell  yourself  the  truth!  " 

His  words  hurt  me  for  a  moment;  then,  as  I  listened, 
that  strange  apathy  once  more  began  to  creep  over  me. 
Was  it  really  the  truth  he  had  told  me?  Was  it?  Well 
— and  then?  What  meaning  had  it  to  me?  ...  Of 
what  help  was  it?  ...  of  what  portent?  ...  of  what 
use?  .  .  .  What  door  did  it  unlock?  Surely  not  the 
door  I  had  closed  upon  myself  so  many  years  ago! 

Something  of  my  thoughts  he  may  have  divined  as  I 
stood  brooding  in  the  sunny  tent,  staring  listlessly  at 
my  own  shadow  on  the  floor,  for  he  laid  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder  and  said :  "  Surely,  Scarlett,  if  happiness 
can  be  reborn  in  Paradise,  it  can  be  reborn  here.  I 
know  you;  I  have  known  you  for  many  years.  And 
in  all  that  time  you  have  never  fallen  below  my  ideal!" 

"What  are  you  saying,  Speed?"  I  asked,  rousing 
from  my  lethargy  to  shake  his  hand  from  my  shoulder. 

"The  truth.  In  all  these  years  of  intimacy,  famil- 
iarity has  never  bred  contempt  in  me;  I  am  not  your 
equal  in  anything ;  it  does  not  hurt  me  to  say  so.  I 
have  watched  you  as  a  younger  brother  watches,  lov- 
ingly, jealous  yet  proud  of  you,  alert  for  a  failing 
or  a  weakness  which  I  never  found — or,  if  I  thought 
I  found  a  flaw  in  you,  knowing  that  it  was  but  part 
of  a  character  too  strong,  too  generous  for  me  to 
criticise." 

283 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Speed,"  I  said,  astonished,  "  are  you  talking  about 
me — about  me — a  mountebank — and  a  failure  at  that? 
You  know  I'm  a  failure — a  nobody — "  I  hesitated, 
touched  by  his  kindness.  "  Your  loyalty  to  me  is  all 
I  have.  I  wish  it  were  true  that  I  am  such  a  man  as  you 
believe  me  to  be." 

"It  is  true/'  he  said,  almost  sullenly.  "If  it  were 
not,  no  man  would  say  it  of  you — though  a  woman 
might.  Listen  to  me,  Scarlett.  I  tell  you  that  a  man 
shipwrecked  on  the  world's  outer  rocks — if  he  does  not 
perish — makes  the  better  pilot  afterwards." 

"But  ...  I  perished,  Speed." 

"It  is  not  true,"  he  said,  violently;  "but  you  will  if 
you  don't  steer  a  truer  course  than  you  have.  Scarlett, 
answer  me!" 

"Answer  you?    What?" 

"Are  you  in  love?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

He  waited,  looked  up  at  me,  then  dropped  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  and  turned  away  toward  the  interior  of 
the  tent  where  Jacqueline,  having  descended  from  the 
rigging,  stood,  drawing  her  slim  fingers  across  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  the  tank. 

I  walked  out  through  the  tent  door,  threading  my 
way  among  the  curious  crowds  gathered  not  only  at 
the  box-office,  but  even  around  the  great  tent  as  far  as 
I  could  see.  Byram  hailed  me  with  jovial  abandon, 
perspiring  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  silk  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head;  little  Grigg  made  one  of  his  most  admired 
grimaces  and  shook  the  heavy  money-box  at  me ;  Horan 
waved  his  hat  above  his  head  and  pointed  at  the 
throng  with  a  huge  thumb.  I  smiled  at  them  all  and 
walked  on. 

Cloud  and  sunshine  alternated  on  that  capricious 
November  morning ;  the  sea- wind  was  warm  ;  the  tinct- 
ure of  winter  had  gone.  On  that  day,  however,  I  saw 

284 


THE    CIRCUS 

wavering  strings  of  wild  ducks  flying  south ;  and  the 
little  hedge-birds  of  different  kinds  were  already  flock- 
ing amiably  together  in  twittering  bands  that  filled 
the  leafless  blackthorns  on  the  cliffs; — true  prophets, 
all,  of  that  distant  cold,  gathering  somewhere  in  the 
violet  north. 

I  walked  fast  across  the  moors,  as  though  I  had  a 
destination.  And  I  had;  yet  when  I  understood  it  I 
sheered  off,  only  to  turn  again  and  stare  fascinated 
in  the  direction  of  the  object  that  frightened  me. 

There  it  rose  against  the  seaward  cliffs,  the  little 
tower  of  Trecourt  farm,  sea-smitten  and  crusted,  wind- 
worn,  stained,  gray  as  the  lichened  rocks  scattered 
across  the  moorland.  Over  it  the  white  gulls  pitched 
and  tossed  in  a  windy  sky ;  beyond  crawled  the  ancient 
and  wrinkled  sea. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  I  said  aloud,  "  to  find  love  at 
the  world's  edge."  I  looked  blindly  across  the  gray 
waste.  "  But  I  have  found  it  too  late." 

The  wind  blew  furiously ;  I  heard  the  gulls  squealing 
in  the  sky,  the  far  thunder  of  the  surf. 

Then,  looking  seaward  again,  for  the  first  time  I  no- 
ticed that  the  black  cruiser  was  gone,  that  nothing 
now  lay  between  the  cliffs  and  the  hazy  headland  of 
Groix  save  a  sheet  of  lonely  water  spreading  league  on 
league  to  meet  a  flat,  gray  sky. 

Why  had  the  cruiser  sailed?  As  I  stood  there,  brood- 
ing, to  my  numbed  ears  the  moor-winds  bore  a  sound 
coming  from  a  great  distance — the  sound  of  cannon — 
little,  soft  reports,  all  but  inaudible  in  the  wind  and  the 
humming  undertone  of  the  breakers.  Yet  I  knew  the 
sound,  and  turned  my  unquiet  eyes  to  the  sea,  where 
nothing  moved  save  the  far  crests  of  waves. 

For  a  while  I  stood  listening,  searching  the  sea,  until 
a  voice  hailed  me,  and  I  turned  to  find  Kelly  Eyre  al- 
most at  my  elbow. 

285 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  There  is  a  man  in  the  village  haranguing  the  peo- 
ple," he  said,  abruptly.  "We  thought  you  ought  to 
know." 

"  A  man  haranguing  the  people,"  I  repeated.  "  What 
of  it?" 

"Speed  thinks  the  man  is  Buckhurst." 

"What!"  I  cried. 

"There's  something  else,  too,"  he  said,  soberly,  and 
drew  a  telegram  from  his  pocket. 

I  seized  it,  and  studied  the  fluttering  sheet : 

"  The  governor  of  Lorient,  on  complaint  of  the  mayor  of  Para- 
dise, forbids  the  American  exhibition,  and  orders  the  individual 
Byram  to  travel  immediately  to  Lorient  with  his  so-called  circus, 
where  a  British  steamship  will  transport  the  personnel,  baggage, 
and  animals  to  British  territory.  The  mayor  of  Paradise  will  see 
ikat  this  order  of  expulsion  is  promptly  executed. 

"  (Signed)  BRETEUIL. 

"Chief  of  Police." 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  telegram?"  I  asked. 

"  It's  a  copy ;  the  mayor  came  with  it.  Byram  does 
not  know  about  it." 

"  Don't  let  him  know  it!"  I  said, quickly ;  "  this  thing 
will  kill  him,  I  believe.  Where  is  that  fool  of  a  mayor? 
Come  on,  Kelly!  Stay  close  beside  me."  And  I  set 
off  at  a  swinging  pace,  down  the  hollow,  out  across 
the  left  bank  of  the  little  river,  straight  to  the  bridge, 
which  we  reached  almost  on  a  run. 

"Look  there!"  cried  my  companion,  as  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  square. 

The  square  was  packed  with  Breton  peasants;  near 
the  fountain  two  cider  barrels  had  been  placed,  a  plank 
thrown  across  them,  and  on  this  plank  stood  a  man 
holding  a  red  flag. 

The  man  was  John  Buckhurst. 

When  I  came  nearer  I  could  see  that  he  wore  a  red 
scarf  across  his  breast ;  a  little  nearer  and  I  could  hear 

286 


THE    CIRCUS 

his  passionless  voice  sounding;  nearer  still,  I  could 
distinguish  every  clear-cut  word : 

"  Men  of  the  sea,  men  of  that  ancient  Armorica  which, 
for  a  thousand  years,  has  suffered  serfdom,  I  come  to 
you  bearing  no  sword.  You  need  none;  you  are  free 
under  this  red  flag  I  raise  above  you." 

He  lifted  the  banner,  shaking  out  the  red  folds. 

"  Yet  if  I  come  to  you  bearing  no  sword,  I  come  with 
something  better,  something  more  powerful,  something 
so  resistless  that,  using  it  as  your  battle-cry,  the  world 
is  yours ! 

"I  come  bearing  the  watchword  of  world-brother- 
hood —  Peace,  Love,  Equality !  I  bear  it  from  your 
battle-driven  brothers,  scourged  to  the  battlements  of 
Paris  by  the  demons  of  a  wicked  government!  I  bear 
it  from  the  devastated  towns  of  the  provinces,  from 
your  homeless  brothers  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine. 

"Peace,  Love,  Equality!  All  this  is  yours  for  the 
asking.  The  commune  will  be  proclaimed  through- 
out France;  Paris  is  aroused,  Lyons  is  ready,  Bor- 
deaux watches,  Marseilles  waits! 

"  You  call  your  village  Paradise — yet  you  starve  here. 
Let  this  little  Breton  village  be  a  paradise  in  truth — 
a  shrine  for  future  happy  pilgrims  who  shall  say :  'Here 
first  were  sewn  the  seeds  of  the  world's  liberty !  Here  first 
bloomed  the  perfect  flower  of  universal  brotherhood!" 

He  bent  his  sleek,  gray  head  meekly,  pausing  as 
though  in  profound  meditation.  Suddenly  he  raised 
his  head;  his  tone  changed;  a  faint  ring  of  defiance 
sounded  under  the  smooth  flow  of  words. 

He  began  with  a  blasphemous  comparison,  alluding 
to  the  money-changers  in  the  temple — a  subtle  appeal 
to  righteous  violence. 

"  It  rests  with  us  to  cleanse  the  broad  temple  of  our 
country  and  drive  from  it  the  thieves  and  traitors  who 
enslave  us!  How  can  we  do  it?  They  are  strong;  we 

287 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

are  weak.  Ah,  but  are  they  truly  strong?  You  say 
they  have  armies?  Armies  are  composed  of  men.  These 
men  are  your  brothers,  whipped  forth  to  die — for  what? 
For  the  pleasure  of  a  few  aristocrats.  Who  was  it 
dragged  your  husbands  and  sons  away  from  your 
arms,  leaving  you  to  starve?  The  governor  of  Lorient. 
Who  is  he?  An  aristocrat,  paid  to  scourge  your  hus- 
bands and  children  to  battle — paid,  perhaps,  by  Prussia 
to  betray  them,  too!" 

A  low  murmur  rose  from  the  people.  Buckhurst 
swept  the  throng  with  colorless  eyes. 

"  Under  the  commune  we  will  have  peace.  Why  ? 
Because  there  can  be  no  hunger,  no  distress,  no  home- 
less ones  where  the  wealth  of  all  is  distributed  equally. 
We  will  have  no  wars,  because  there  will  be  nothing 
to  fight  for.  We  will  have  no  aristocrats  where  all 
must  labor  for  the  common  good ;  where  all  land  is 
equally  divided ;  where  love,  equality,  and  brotherhood 
are  the  only  laws — " 

"  Where's  the  mayor?"  I  whispered  to  Eyre. 

"In  his  house;  Speed  is  with  him." 

"Come  on,  then,"  I  said,  pushing  my  way  around 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  to  the  mayor's  house. 

The  door  was  shut  and  the  blinds  drawn,  but  a  knock 
brought  Speed  to  the  door,  revolver  in  hand. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  grimly,  "  it's  time  you  arrived.  Come 
in." 

The  mayor  was  lying  in  his  arm-chair,  frightened, 
sulky,  obstinate,  his  fat  form  swathed  in  a  red  sash. 

"O-ho!"  I  said,  sharply,  "so  you  already  wear  the 
colors  of  the  revolution,  do  you?" 

"  Dame,  they  tied  it  over  my  waistcoat,"  he  said,  "  and 
there  are  no  gendarmes  to  help  me  arrest  them — 

"Never  mind  that  just  now,"  I  interrupted;  "what 
I  want  to  know  is  why  you  wrote  the  governor  of  Lorient 
to  expel  our  circus." 

288 


THE    CIRCUS 

"  That's  my  own  affair,"  he  snapped ;  "  besides,  who 
said  I  wrote?" 

"Idiot,"  I  said,  "somebody  paid  you  to  do  it.  Who 
was  it?" 

The  mayor,  hunched  up  in  his  chair,  shut  his  mouth 
obstinately. 

"Somebody  paid  you,"  I  repeated;  "you  would 
never  have  complained  of  us  unless  somebody  paid 
you,  because  our  circus  is  bringing  money  into  your 
village.  Come,  my  friend,  that  was  easy  to  guess. 
Now  let  me  guess  again  that  Buckhurst  paid  you  to 
complain  of  us." 

The  mayor  looked  slyly  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  mottled  eyes,  but  he  remained  mute. 

"Very  well,"  said  I;  "  when  the  troops  from  Lorient 
hear  of  this  revolution  in  Paradise,  they'll  come  and 
chase  these  communards  into  the  sea.  And  after  that 
they'll  stand  you  up  against  a  convenient  wall  and 
give  you  thirty  seconds  for  absolution — " 

"Stop! "  burst  out  the  mayor,  struggling  to  his  feet. 
"What  am  I  to  do?  This  gentleman,  Monsieur  Buck- 
hurst,  will  slay  me  if  I  disobey  him !  Besides,"  he  added, 
with  cowardly  cunning, "  they  are  going  to  do  the  same 
thing  in  Lorient,  too — and  everywhere — in  Paris,  in 
Bordeaux,  in  Marseilles  —  even  in  Quimperl6!  And 
when  all  these  cities  are  flying  the  red  flag  it  won't  be 
comfortable  for  cities  that  fly  the  tricolor."  He  began 
to  bluster.  "I'm  mayor  of  Paradise,  and  I  won't  be 
bullied !  You  get  out  of  here  with  your  circus  and  your 
foolish  elephants!  I  haven't  any  gendarmes  just  now 
to  drive  you  out,  but  you  had  better  start,  all  the  same 
— before  night." 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "before  night?     Why  before  night?" 

"  Wait  and  see  then,"  he  muttered.  "  Anyway,  get 
out  of  my  house — d'  ye  hear?" 

"  We  are  going  to  give  that  performance  at  two  o'clock 
19  289 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

this  afternoon/'  I  said.  "  After  that,  another  to-morrow 
at  the  same  hour,  and  on  every  day  at  the  same  hour, 
as  long  as  it  pays.  Do  you  understand?" 

"  Perfectly,"  sneered  the  mayor. 

"  And,"  I  continued,  "  if  the  governor  of  Lorient  sends 
gendarmes  to  conduct  us  to  the  steamship  in  Lorient 
harbor,  they'll  take  with  them  somebody  besides  the 
circus  folk." 

"  You  mean  me?"  he  inquired. 

"I  do." 

"  What  do  I  care?"  he  bawled  in  a  fury.  "  You  had 
better  go  tc  Lorient,  I  tell  you.  What  do  you  know 
about  the  commune?  What  do  you  know  about  uni- 
versal brotherhood?  Everybody's  everybody's  brother, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not!  Fm  your  brother,  and  if  it 
doesn't  suit  you  you  may  go  to  the  devil!" 

Watching  the  infuriated  magistrate,  I  said  in  English 
to  Speed:  "This  is  interesting.  Buckhurst  has  learned 
we  are  here,  and  has  paid  this  fellow  heavily  to  have  us 
expelled.  What  sense  do  you  make  of  all  this? — for  I 
can  make  none." 

"Nor  can  I," muttered  Speed;  "there's  a  link  gone; 
we'll  find  it  soon,  I  fancy.  Without  that  link  there's 
no  logic  in  this  matter." 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  sharply,  to  the  mayor,  who  had 
waddled  toward  the  door,  which  was  guarded  by  Kelly 
Eyre. 

"Well,  Fm  looking,"  he  snarled. 

Then  I  patiently  pointed  out  to  him  his  folly,  and  he 
listened  with  ill-grace,  obstinate,  mute,  dull  cunning 
gleaming  from  his  half-closed  eyes. 

Then  I  asked  him  what  he  would  do  if  the  cruiser 
began  dropping  shells  into  Paradise;  he  deliberately 
winked  at  me  and  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek. 

"  So  you  know  that  the  cruiser  has  gone?  "  I  asked. 

He  grinned. 

2QO 


THE    CIRCUS 

"Do  you  suppose  Buckhurst's  men  hold  the  sema- 
phore? If  they  do,  they  sent  that  cruiser  on  a  fool's 
errand/'  whispered  Speed. 

Here  was  a  nice  plot !  I  stepped  to  the  window.  Out- 
side in  the  square  Buckhurst  was  still  speaking  to  a 
spellbound,  gaping  throng.  A  few  men  cheered  him. 
They  were  strangers  in  Paradise. 

"  What's  he  doing  it  for?"  I  asked,  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  proceedings  which  seemed  to  me  the  acme 
of  folly.  "He  must  know  that  the  commune  cannot 
be  started  here  in  Brittany!  Speed,  what  is  that  man 
up  to?" 

Behind  us  the  mayor  was  angrily  demanding  that 
we  leave  his  house ;  and  after  a  while  we  did  so,  skirt- 
ing the  crowd  once  more  to  where,  in  a  cleared  space 
near  the  fountain,  Buckhurst  stood,  red  flag  in  hand, 
ranging  a  dozen  peasants  in  line.  The  peasants  were 
not  Paradise  men;  they  wore  the  costumes  of  the  in- 
terior, and  somebody  had  already  armed  them  with 
scythes,  rusty  boarding  -  pikes,  stable -forks,  and  one 
or  two  flintlock  muskets.  An  evil  -  looking  crew,  if 
ever  I  saw  one;  wild-eyed,  long-haired,  bare  of  knee 
and  ankle,  loutish  faces  turned  toward  the  slim,  gray, 
pale-faced  orator  who  confronted  them,  flag  in  hand. 
They  were  the  scum  of  Morbihan. 

He  told  them  that  they  were  his  guard  of  honor,  the 
glory  of  their  race — a  sacred  battalion  whose  names 
should  shine  high  on  the  imperishable  battlements  of 
freedom. 

Around  them  the  calm-eyed  peasants  stared  at  them 
stupidly;  women  gazed  fascinated  when  Buckhurst, 
raising  his  flag,  pointed  in  silence  to  the  mayor's  house, 
where  that  official  stood  in  his  doorway,  observing  the 
scene : 

"Forward!"  said  Buckhurst,  and  the  grotesque  es- 
cort started  with  a  clatter  of  heavy  sabots  and  a  rattle 

291 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

of  scythes.  The  crowd  fell  back  to  give  them  way, 
then  closed  in  behind  like  a  herd  of  sheep,  following 
to  the  mayor's  house,  where  Buckhurst  set  his  sen- 
tinels and  then  entered,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"Well!"  muttered  Speed,  in  amazement. 

After  a  long  silence,  Kelly  Eyre  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  It's  time  we  were  in  the  tent,"  he  observed,  dryly ;  and 
we  turned  away  without  a  word.  At  the  bridge  we 
stopped  and  looked  back.  The  red  flag  was  flying 
from  the  mayor's  house. 

"Speed,"  I  .said,  "there's  one  thing  certain:  Byram 
can't  stay  if  there's  going  to  be  fighting  here.  I  heard 
guns  at  sea  this  morning;  I  don't  know  what  that 
may  indicate.  And  here's  this  idiotic  revolution  start- 
ed in  Paradise !  That  means  the  troops  from  Lorient, 
and  a  wretched  lot  of  bushwhacking  and  guerilla  work. 
Those  Faouet  Bretons  that  Buckhurst  has  recruited 
are  a  bad  lot;  there  is  going  to  be  trouble,  I  tell 
you." 

Eyre  suggested  that  we  arm  our  circus  people,  and 
Speed  promised  to  attend  to  it  and  to  post  them  at  the 
tent  doors,  ready  to  resist  any  interference  with  the 
performance  on  the  part  of  Buckhurst's  recruits. 

It  was  already  nearly  one  o'clock  as  we  threaded  our 
way  through  the  crowds  at  the  entrance,  where  our  band 
was  playing  gayly  and  thousands  of  white  head-dresses 
fluttered  in  the  sparkling  sunshine  that  poured  inter- 
mittently from  a  sky  where  great  white  clouds  were 
sailing  seaward. 

"Walk  right  up,  messoors!  Entry  done,  mesdames, 
see  voo  play!"  shouted  Byram,  waving  a  handful  of 
red  and  blue  tickets.  "  Animals  all  on  view  before  the 
performance  begins!  Walk  right  into  the  corridor  of 
livin'  marvels  and  defunct  curiosities!  Bring  the  lit- 
tle ones  to  see  the  elephant  an'  the  camuel — the  fleet 
ship  of  the  Sairy!  Don't  miss  nothing!  Don't  fail 

292 


THE    CIRCUS 

to  contemplate  le  ploo  magnifique  spectacle  in  all 
Europe!  Don't  let  nobody  say  you  died  an'  never  saw 
the  only  Flyin'  Mermaid!  An'  don't  forget  the  prize 
— ten  thousand  francs  to  the  man,  woman,  or  che-ild 
who  can  prove  that  this  here  Flyin'  Mermaid  ain't  a 
fictious  bein'  straight  from  Paradise!" 

Speed  and  I  made  our  way  slowly  through  the  crush 
to  the  stables,  then  around  to  the  dressing-rooms,  where 
little  Grigg,  in  his  spotted  clown's  costume,  was  putting 
the  last  touches  of  vermilion  to  his  white  cheeks,  and 
Horan,  draped  in  a  mangy  leopard -skin  to  imitate 
Hercules,  sat  on  his  two  -  thousand  -  pound  dumbbell, 
curling  his  shiny  black  mustache  with  Mrs.  Grigg's 
iron. 

"Jacqueline's  dressed,"  cried  Miss  Crystal,  parting 
the  curtain  of  her  dressing-room,  just  enough  to  show 
her  pretty,  excited  eyes  and  nose. 

"  All  right;  I  won't  be  long,"  replied  Speed,  who  was 
to  act  as  ring-master.  And  he  turned  and  looked  at 
me  as  I  raised  the  canvas  flap  which  screened  my 
dressing-room. 

"I  think,"  I  said,  "that  we  had  better  ride  over  to 
Tre"court  after  the  show — not  that  there's  any  imme- 
diate danger — " 

"There  is  no  immediate  danger,"  said  Speed,  "be- 
cause she  is  here." 

My  face  began  to  burn;  I  looked  at  him  miserably. 
"How  do  you  know?" 

"She  is  there  in  the  tent.     I  saw  her." 

He  oame  up  and  held  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "I'm 
sorry  I  told  you,"  he  said. 

"Why?"  I  asked.  "She  knows  what  I  am.  Is 
there  any  reason  why  she  should  not  be  amused?  I 
promise  you  she  shall  be!" 

"Then  why  do  you  speak  so  bitterly?  Don't  mis- 
construe her  presence.  Don't  be  a  contemptible  fool. 

293 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

If  I  have  read  her  face — and  I  have  never  spoken  to  her, 
as  you  know — I  tell  3rou,  Scarlett,  that  young  girl  is 
going  through  an  ordeal!  Do  women  of  that  kind 
come  to  shows  like  this  to  be  amused?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  said,  angrily. 

"  I  mean  that  she  could  not  keep  away !  And  I  tell 
you  to  be  careful  with  your  lions,  to  spare  her  any  reck- 
lessness on  your  part,  to  finish  as  soon  as  you  can,  and 
get  out  of  that  cursed  cage.  If  you  don't  you're  a 
coward,  and  a  selfish  one  at  that!" 

His  words  were  like  a  blow  in  the  face;  I  stared  at 
him,  too  confused  even  for  anger. 

"Oh,  you  fool,  you  fool!"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"She  cares  for  you;  can't  you  understand?" 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  me  speechless. 

I  do  not  remember  dressing.  When  I  came  out  into 
the  passage-way  Byram  beckoned  me,  and  pointed  at 
a  crack  in  the  canvas  through  which  one  could  see  the 
interior  of  the  amphitheatre.  A  mellow  light  flooded 
the  great  tent ;  spots  of  sunshine  fell  on  the  fresh  tan- 
bark,  where  long,  luminous,  dusty  beams  slanted  from 
the  ridge-pole  athwart  the  golden  gloom. 

Tier  on  tier  the  wooden  benches  rose,  packed  with 
women  in  brilliant  holiday  dress,  with  men  gorgeous 
in  silver  and  velvet,  with  children  decked  in  lace  and 
gilt  chains.  The  air  was  filled  with  the  starched  rustle 
of  white  coiffes  and  stiff  collarettes;  a  low,  incessant 
clatter  of  sabots  sounded  from  gallery  to  arena;  gusts 
of  breathless  whispering  passed  like  capricious  breezes 
blowing,  then  died  out  in  the  hush  which  fell  as  our 
band-master,  McCadger,  raised  his  wand  and  the  band 
burst  into  "Dixie." 

At  that  the  great  canvas  flaps  over  the  stable  entrance 
slowly  parted  and  the  scarlet-draped  head  of  Djebe,  the 
elephant,  appeared.  On  he  came,  amid  a  rising  roar 
of  approval,  Speed  in  gorgeous  robes  perched  on  high, 

294 


THE    CIRCUS 

ankus  raised.  After  him  came  the  camel,  all  over  tas- 
sels and  gold  net,  bestridden  by  Kelly  Eyre,  wearing 
a  costume  seldom  seen  anywhere,  and  never  in  the 
Sahara.  White  horses,  piebald  horses,  and  cream- 
colored  horses  pranced  in  the  camel's  wake,  dragging 
assorted  chariots  tenanted  by  gentlemen  in  togas; 
pretty  little  Mrs.  Grigg,  in  habit  and  scarlet  jacket, 
followed  on  Briza,  the  white  mare ;  Horan  came  next, 
driving  more  horses;  the  dens  of  ferocious  beasts 
creaked  after,  guarded  by  a  phalanx  of  stalwart  stable- 
men in  plumes  and  armor;  then  Miss  Crystal,  driving 
zebras  to  a  gilt  chariot ;  then  more  men  in  togas,  leading 
monkeys  mounted  on  ponies;  and  finally  Mrs.  Horan 
seated  on  a  huge  egg  drawn  by  ostriches. 

Once  only  they  circled  the  sawdust  ring;  then  the 
band  stopped,  the  last  of  the  procession  disappeared, 
the  clown  came  shrieking  and  tumbling  out  into  the 
arena  with  his  "  Here  we  are  again  1" 

And  the  show  was  on. 

I  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  stable-tent,  dressed  in  my 
frock-coat,  white  stock,  white  cords,  and  hunting-boots, 
sullen,  imbittered,  red  with  a  false  shame  that  better 
men  than  I  have  weakened  under,  almost  desperate  in 
my  humiliation,  almost  ready  to  end  it  all  there  among 
those  tawny,  restless  brutes  pacing  behind  the  bars 
at  my  elbow,  watching  me  stealthily  with  luminous 
eyes. 

She  knew  what  I  was — but  that  she  could  come  to 
see  with  her  own  eyes  I  could  not  understand,  I  could 
not  forgive.  Speed's  senseless  words  rang  in  my  ears 
— "She  cares  for  you!"  But  I  knew  they  were  mean- 
ingless, I  knew  she  could  not  care  for  me.  What  fools' 
paradise  would  he  have  me  enter?  What  did  he  know 
of  this  woman  whom  I  knew  and  understood — whom  I 
honored  for  her  tenderness  and  pity  to  all  who  suffered 
— who  I  knew  counted  me  as  one  among  a  multitude 

295 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

of  unhappy  failures  whom  her  kindness  and  sympathy 
might  aid. 

Because  she  had,  in  her  gracious  ignorance,  given 
me  a  young  girl's  impulsive  friendship,  was  I  to  mis- 
take her?  What  could  Speed  know  of  her — of  her  creed, 
her  ideals,  her  calm,  passionless  desire  to  help  where 
help  was  needed — anywhere — in  the  palace,  in  the  fau- 
bourgs, in  the  wretched  chaumieres,  in  the  slums  ?  It  was 
all  one  to  her — to  this  young  girl  whose  tender  heart, 
bruised  by  her  own  sad  life,  opened  to  all  on  whom  the 
evil  days  had  dawned. 

And  yet  she  had  come  here  —  and  that  was  cruel; 
and  she  was  not  cruel.  Could  she  know  that  I  had 
a  shred  of  pride  left — one  little,  ragged  thread  of  pride 
left  in  me — that  she  should  come  to  see  me  do  my  moun- 
tebank tricks  to  the  applause  of  a  greasy  throng? 

No,  she  had  not  thought  of  that,  else  she  would  have 
stayed  away ;  for  she  was  kind,  above  all  else — gener- 
ous and  kind. 

Speed  passed  me  in  ring-master's  dress;  there  came 
the  hollow  thud  of  hoofs  as  Mrs.  Grigg  galloped  into 
the  ring  on  her  white  mare,  gauze  skirts  fluttering, 
whip  raised;  and,  "Hoop-la!"  squealed  the  clown  as 
his  pretty  little  wife  went  careering  around  and  around 
the  tan-bark,  leaping  through  paper-hoops,  over  hur- 
dles, while  the  band  played  frantically  and  the  Bre- 
tons shouted  in  an  ecstasy  of  excitement. 

Then  Grigg  mounted  his  little  trick  donkey;  roars 
of  laughter  greeted  his  discomfiture  when  Tim,  the 
donkey,  pitched  him  headlong  and  cantered  off  with  a 
hee-haw  of  triumph. 

Miss  Delany  tripped  past  me  in  her  sky-blue  tights 
to  hold  the  audience  spellbound  with  her  jugglery, 
and  spin  plates  and  throw  glittering  knives  until  the 
satiated  people  turned  to  welcome  Horan  and  his 
"cogged"  dumbbells  and  clubs. 

296 


THE    CIRCUS 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  whispered  Speed,  coming  up 
(o  me,  long  whip  trailing. 

I  shook  my  head. 

He  looked  at  me  in  disgust.  "  Here's  something  for 
you,"  he  said,  shortly,  and  thrust  an  envelope  into  my 
hand. 

In  the  envelope  was  a  little  card  on  which  was  writ- 
ten: "I  ask  you  to  be  careful,  for  a  friend's  sake." 
On  the  other  side  of  the  card  was  engraved  her  name. 

I  raised  my  head  and  looked  at  Speed,  who  began 
to  laugh  nervously.  "That's  better,"  he  said;  "you 
don't  look  like  a  surly  brute  any  more." 

"  Where  is  she?"  I  said,  steadying  my  voice,  which 
my  leaping  heart  almost  stifled. 

He  drew  me  by  the  elbow  and  looked  toward  the 
right  of  the  amphitheatre.  Following  the  direction  of 
his  eyes,  I  saw  her  leaning  forward,  pale-faced,  grave, 
small,  gloved  hands  interlocked.  Beside  her  sat  Syl- 
via Elven,  apparently  amused  at  the  antics  of  the 
clown. 

Shame  filled  me.  Not  the  false  shame  I  had  felt — 
that  vanished — but  shame  that  I  could  have  misun- 
derstood the  presence  of  this  brave  friend  of  mine,  this 
brave,  generous,  tender-hearted  girl,  who  had  given 
me  her  friendship,  who  was  true  enough  to  care  what 
might  happen  to  me — and  brave  enough  to  say  so. 

"I  will  be  careful,"  I  said  to  Speed,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  If  it  were  not  for  Byram  I  would  not  go  on  to-day — 
but  that  is  a  matter  of  honor.  Oh,  Speed,"  I  broke 
out,  "is  she  not  worth  dying  for?" 

"Why  not  live  for  her?"  he  observed,  dryly. 

"  I  will — don't  misunderstand  me — I  know  she  could 
never  even  think  of  me — as  I  do — of  her — yes,  as  I  dare 
to,  Speed.  I  dare  to  love  her  with  all  this  wretched  heart 
and  soul  of  mine!  It's  all  right — I  think  I  am  crazy 
to  talk  like  this — but  you  are  kind,  Speed — you  will 

297 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

forget  what  I  said — you  have  forgotten  it  already— 
bless  your  heart — " 

"No,  I  haven't,"  he  retorted,  obstinately.  "You 
must  win  her — you  must !  Shame  on  you  for  a  cow- 
ard if  you  do  not  speak  that  word  which  means  life 
to  you  both!" 

"Speed!"  I  began,  angrily. 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil!"  he  snapped,  and  walked  off 
to  where  Jacqueline  stood  glittering,  her  slim  limbs 
striking  fire  from  every  silver  scale. 

"  All  ready,  little  sweetheart!"  he  cried,  reassuringly, 
as  she  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  his  and  shook  her  elf- 
locks  around  her  flushed  face.  "It's  our  turn  now; 
they're  uncovering  the  tank,  and  Miss  Crystal  is  on 
her  trapeze.  Are  you  nervous?" 

"  Not  when  you  are  by  me,"  said  Jacqueline. 

"  I'll  be  there,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  You  will  see  me 
when  you  are  ready.  Look!  There's  the  governor! 
It's  your  call!  Quick,  my  child!" 

"Good-bye,"  said  Jacqueline,  catching  his  hand  ir, 
both  of  hers,  and  she  was  off  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  ring  before  I  could  get  to  a  place  of  vantage  to 
watch. 

Up  into  the  rigging  she  swung,  higher,  higher,  hang- 
ing like  a  brilliant  fly  in  all  that  net-work  of  wire  and 
rope,  turning,  twisting,  climbing,  dropping  to  her 
knees,  until  the  people's  cheers  rose  to  a  sustained 
shriek. 

"Ready!"  quavered  Miss  Crystal,  hanging  from  her 
own  trapeze  across  the  gulf. 

It  was  the  first  signal.  Jacqueline  set  her  trapeze 
swinging  and  hung  by  her  knees,  face  downward. 

"Ready!"  called  Miss  Crystal  again,  as  Jacque- 
line's trapeze  swung  higher  and  higher. 

"Ready!"  said  Jacqueline,  calmly. 

"Go!" 

298 


THE    CIRCUS 

Like  a  meteor  the  child  flashed  across  the  space 
between  the  two  trapezes;  Miss  Crystal  caught  her 
by  her  ankles. 

"Ready?"  called  Speed,  from  the  ground  below. 
He  had  turned  quite  pale.  I  saw  Jacqueline,  hanging 
head  down,  smile  at  him  from  her  dizzy  height. 

"Ready,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"Go!" 

Down,  down,  like  a  falling  star,  flashed  Jacqueline 
into  the  shallow  pool,  then  shot  to  the  surface,  shim- 
mering like  a  leaping  mullet,  where  she  played  and 
dived  and  darted,  while  the  people  screamed  them- 
selves hoarse,  and  Speed  came  out,  ghastly  and  trem- 
bling, colliding  with  me  like  a  blind  man. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  let  her  do  it ;  I  wish  I  had  never 
brought  her  here — never  seen  her,"  he  stammered. 
"She'll  miss  it  some  day — like  Miss  Claridge — and 
it  will  be  murder — and  I'll  have  done  it!  Anybody 
but  that  child,  Scarlett,  anybody  else — but  I  can't 
bear  to  have  her  die  that  way — the  pretty  little  thing!" 

He  let  go  of  my  arm  and  stood  back  as  my  lion-cages 
came  rolling  out,  drawn  by  four  horses. 

"It's  your  turn,"  he  said,  in  a  dazed  way.  "Look 
out  for  that  lioness." 

As  I  walked  out  into  the  arena  I  saw  only  one  face. 
She  tried  to  smile,  and  so  did  I ;  but  a  terrible,  helpless 
sensation  was  already  creeping  over  me — the  knowl- 
edge that  I  was  causing  her  distress — the  knowledge 
that  I  was  no  longer  sure  of  myself — that,  with  my 
love  for  her,  my  authority  over  these  caged  things  had 
gone,  never  to  return.  I  knew  it,  I  recognized  it,  and 
admitted  it  now.  Speed's  words  rang  true — horribly 
true. 

I  entered  the  cage,  afraid. 

Almost  instantly  I  was  the  centre  of  a  snarling  mass 
of  lions ;  I  saw  nothing ;  my  whip  rose  and  fell  mechan- 

299 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

ically.  I  stood  like  one  stunned,  while  the  tawny  forms 
leaped  right  and  left. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  keeper  say,  "  Look  out  for  Em- 
press Khatoun,  sir!"  And  a  moment  later  a  cry, 
"Look  out,  sir!" 

Something  went  wrong  with  another  lion,  too,  for 
the  people  were  standing  up  and  shouting,  and  the 
sleeve  of  my  coat  hung  from  the  elbow,  showing  my 
bare  shoulder.  I  staggered  up  against  the  bars  of 
the  sliding  door  as  a  lioness  struck  me  heavily  and  I 
returned  the  blow.  I  remember  saying,  aloud:  "I 
must  keep  my  feet;  I  must  not  fall!"  Then  daylight 
grew  red,  and  I  was  on  my  knees,  with  the  foul  breath 
of  a  lion  in  my  face.  A  hot  iron  bar  shot  across  the 
cage.  The  roaring  of  beasts  and  people  died  out  in 
my  ears;  then,  with  a  shock,  my  soul  seemed  to  be 
dashed  out  of  me  into  a  terrific  darkness. 


PART  THIRD 


XVIII 

A  GUEST-CHAMBER 

ALIGHT  was  shining  in  my  eyes  and  I  was  talking 
excitedly;  that  and  the  odor  of  brandy  I  remem- 
ber— and  something  else,  a  steady  roaring  in  my  ears ; 
then  darkness,  out  of  which  came  a  voice,  empty,  mean- 
ingless, finally  soundless. 

After  a  while  I  realized  that  I  was  in  pain ;  that,  at 
intervals,  somebody  forced  morsels  of  ice  between  my 
lips ;  that  the  darkness  around  me  had  turned  grayer. 

Time  played  tricks  on  me ;  centuries  passed  steadily, 
year  following  year — long  years  they  were,  too,  with 
endless  spring-tides,  summers,  autumns,  winters,  each 
with  full  complement  of  months,  and  every  month 
crowded  with  days.  Space,  illimitable  space,  surround- 
ed me  —  skyless,  starless  space.  And  through  its  ter- 
rific silence  I  heard  a  clock  ticking  seconds  of  time. 

Years  and  years  later  a  yellow  star  rose  and  stood 
still  before  my  open  eyes ;  and  after  a  long  while  I  saw 
it  was  the  flame  of  a  candle :  and  somebody  spoke  my 
name. 

"  I  know  you,  Speed,"  I  said,  drowsily. 

"You  are  all  right,  Scarlett?" 

"Yes,  .  .  .  all  right." 

"Does  the  candle-light  pain  you?" 

"No;  ...  do  they  contract?"' 

"  A  little.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  am  sure  the  pupils  of  your  eyes 
are  contracting.  Don't  talk." 

303 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"No;  .  .  .  then  it  was  concussion  of  the  brain?" 

"Yes;  .  .  .  the  shock  is  passing.  .  .  .  Don't  talk." 

Time  moved  on  again;  space  slowly  contracted  into 
a  symmetrical  shape,  set  with  little  points  of  light ; 
sleep  and  fatigue  alternated  with  glimmers  of  reason, 
which  finally  grew  into  a  faint  but  steady  intelligence. 
And,  very  delicately,  memory  stirred  in  a  slumbering 
brain. 

Reason  and  memory  were  mine  again,  frail  toys 
for  a  stricken  man,  so  frail  I  dared  not,  for  a  time, 
use  them  for  my  amusement — and  one  of  them  was 
broken,  too  —  memory ! — broken  short  at  the  moment 
when  full  in  my  face  I  had  felt  the  hot,  fetid  breath 
of  a  lion. 

"Speed!" 

"Yes;  I  am  here." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

I  heard  the  click  of  his  hunting  -  case.  "  Eleven 
o'clock." 

"What  day?" 

"Saturday." 

"When — "    I  hesitated.     I  was  afraid. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"When  was  I  hurt?  Many  days  ago  —  many 
weeks?" 

"You  were  hurt  at  half-past  three  this  afternoon." 

I  tried  to  comprehend ;  I  could  not,  and  after  a  while 
I  gave  up  my  feeble  grasp  on  time. 

"What  is  that  roaring  sound?"  I  asked.  "Not 
drums?  Not  my  lions?" 

"It  is  the  sea." 

"So  near?" 

"Very  near." 

I  turned  my  head  on  the  white  pillow.  "Where  is 
this  bed?  Where  is  this  room?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

304 


A   GUEST-CHAMBER 

I  was  silent,  struggling  with  memory. 

"Tell  me,"  I  said.     "  Whose  bed  is  this?" 

"It  is  hers." 

The  candle -flame  glimmered  before  my  wide-open 
eyes  once  more,  and — 

"Oh,  you  are  all  right,"  he  muttered,  then  leaned 
heavily  against  the  bedside,  dropping  his  arms  on 
the  coverlet. 

"It  was  a  close  call — a  close  call!"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  We  thought  it  was  ended.  .  .  .  They  were  all  over  you 
— Empress  dragged  you;  but  they  all  crowded  in  too 
close — they  blocked  each  other,  you  see;  .  .  .  and  we 
used  the  irons.  .  .  .  Your  left  arm  lay  close  to  the  cage 
door  and  .  .  .  we  got  you  away  from  them,  and  .  .  .  it's 
all  right  now — it's  all  right — " 

He  broke  down,  head  buried  in  his  arms.  I  moved 
my  left  hand  across  the  sheets  so  that  it  rested  on  his 
elbow.  He  lay  there,  gulping  for  a  while ;  I  could  not 
see  him  very  clearly,  for  the  muscles  that  controlled 
my  eyes  were  still  slightly  paralyzed  from  the  shock 
of  the  blow  that  Empress  Khatoun  had  dealt  me. 

"It's  all  very  well,"  he  stammered,  with  a  trace  of 
resentment  in  his  quavering  voice — "  it's  all  very  well 
for  people  who  are  used  to  the  filthy  beasts;  but  I  tell 
you,  Scarlett,  it  sickened  me.  I'm  no  coward,  as  men 
go,  but  I  was  afraid — I  was  terrified!" 

"Yet  you  dragged  me  out,"  I  said. 

"Who  told  you  that?    How  could  you  know — " 

"It  was  not  necessary  to  tell  me.  You  said,  'We 
got  you  away';  but  I  know' it  was  you,  Speed,  because 
it  was  like  you.  Look  at  me!  Am  I  well  enough  to 
dress?" 

He  raised  a  haggard  face  to  mine.  "You  know 
best,"  he  said.  "  They  tore  your  coat  off,  and  one  of 
them  ripped  your  riding-boot  from  top  to  sole;  but  the 
blow  Empress  struck  you  is  your  only  hurt,  and  she 

305 


THE   MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

all  but  missed  you  at  that.     Had  she  hit  you  fairly — 
but,  oh,  hell!     Do  you  want  to  get  up?" 

I  said  I  would  in  a  moment,  .  .  .  and  that  is  all  I  re- 
member that  night,  all  I  remember  clearly,  though  it 
seems  to  me  that  once  I  heard  drums  beating  in  the 
distance;  and  perhaps  I  did. 

Dawn  was  breaking  when  I  awoke.  Speed,  partly 
dressed,  lay  beside  me,  sleeping  heavily.  I  looked 
around  at  the  pretty  boudoir  where  I  lay,  at  the  silken 
curtains  of  the  bed,  at  the  clouds  of  cupids  on  the  paint- 
ed ceiling,  flying  through  a  haze  of  vermilion  flecked 
with  gold. 

Raising  one  hand,  I  touched  with  tentative  fingers 
my  tightly  bandaged  head,  then  turned  over  on  my 
side. 

There  were  my  torn  clothes,  filthy  and  smeared  with 
sawdust,  flung  over  a  delicate,  gilded  chair;  there 
sprawled  my  battered  boots,  soiling  the  polished,  in- 
laid floor;  a  candle  lay  in  a  pool  of  hardened  wax  on 
a  golden  rococo  table,  and  I  saw  where  the  smoulder- 
ing wick  had  blistered  the  glazed  top.  And  this  was 
her  room!  Vandalism  unspeakable!  I  turned  on  my 
snoring  comrade. 

"Idiot,  get  up!"  I  cried,  hitting  him  feebly. 

He  was  very  angry  when  he  found  out  why  I  had 
awakened  him ;  perhaps  the  sight  of  my  bandaged  head 
restrained  him  from  violence. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I've  been  up  all  night,  and 
you  might  as  well  know  it.  If  you  hit  me  again — " 
He  hesitated,  stared  around,  yawned,  and  rubbed  his 
eyes. 

"You're  right,"  he  said,  "I  must  get  up." 

He  stumbled  to  the  floor,  bathed,  grumbling  all  the 
while,  and  then,  to  my  surprise,  walked  over  to  a  flat 
trunk  which  stood  under  the  window  and  which  I  recog- 
nized as  mine. 

306 


A   GUEST-CHAMBER 

"  I'll  borrow  some  underwear,"  he  remarked,  viciously. 

"What's  my  trunk  doing  here?"  I  demanded. 

"Madame  de  Vassart  had  them  bring  it." 

"Had  who  bring  it?" 

"Horan  and  McCadger — before  they  left." 

"Before  they  left?    Have  they  gone?" 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said,  soberly ;  "  you  don't  know  what's 
been  going  on." 

He  began  to  dress,  raising  his  head  now  and  then 
to  gaze  out  across  the  ocean  towards  Groix,  where  the 
cruiser  once  lay  at  anchor. 

"  Of  course  you  don't  know  that  the  circus  has  gone," 
he  remarked. 

"Gone!"  I  echoed,  astonished. 

"Gone  to  Lorient." 

He  came  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  gilded 
bedstead,  buttoning  his  collar  thoughtfully. 

"Buckhurst  is  in  town  again  with  a  raft  of  pictu- 
resque ruffians,"  he  said.  "They  marched  in  last 
night,  drums  beating,  colors  unfurled  —  the  red  rag, 
you  know — and  the  first  thing  they  did  was  to  order 
Byram  to  decamp." 

He  began  to  tie  his  cravat,  with  a  meditative  glance 
at  the  gilded  mirror. 

"I  was  here  with  you.  Kelly  Eyre  came  for  me — 
Madame  de  Vassart  took  my  place  to  watch  you — " 

A  sudden  heart-beat  choked  me. 

"_So  I,"  he  continued,  "posted  off  to  the  tent,  to 
find  a  rabble  of  communist  soldiers  stealing  my  bal- 
loon-car, ropes,  bag,  and  all.  I  tell  you  I  did  what  I 
could,  but  they  said  the  balloon  was  contraband  of 
war,  and  a  military  necessity;  and  they  took  it,  the 
thieving  whelps!  Then  I  saw  how  matters  were  go- 
ing to  end,  and  I  told  the  governor  that  he'd  better  go 
to  Lorient  as  fast  as  he  could  travel  before  they  stole 
the  buttons  off  his  shirt. 

307 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Scarlett,  it  was  a  weird  sight.  I  never  saw  tents 
struck  so  quickly.  Kelly  Eyre,  Horan,  and  I  har- 
nessed up  ;  Grigg  stood  guard  over  the  props 
with  a  horse-pistol.  The  ladies  worked  like  Trojans, 
loading  the  wagons;  Byram  raged  up  and  down 
under  the  bayonets  of  those  bandits,  cursing  them 
as  only  a  man  who  never  swears  can  curse,  invok- 
ing the  Stars  and  Stripes,  metaphorically  placing 
himself,  his  company,  his  money-box,  and  his  camuel 
under  the  shadow  of  the  broad  eagle  of  the  United 
States. 

"  Oh,  those  were  gay  times,  Scarlett.  And  we  fright- 
ened them,  too,  because  nobody  attempted  to  touch 
anything/' 

Speed  laughed  grimly,  and  began  to  pace  the  floor, 
casting  sharp  glances  at  me. 

"Byram's  people,  elephant  and  all,  struck  the  road 
a  little  after  three  o'clock  this  morning,  in  good  order, 
not  a  tent-peg  nor  a  frying-pan  missing.  They  ought 
to  be  in  Lorient  by  early  afternoon." 

"Gone!"  I  repeated,  blankly. 

"Gone.  Curious  how  it  hurt  me  to  say  good-bye. 
They're  good  people — good,  kindly  folk.  I've  grown 
to  care  for  them  in  these  few  months.  ...  I  may  go 
back  to  them  .  .  .  some  day  ...  if  they  want  a  balloon- 
ist ..  .  or  any  kind  of  a  thing." 

"You  stayed  to  take  care  of  me?"  I  said. 

"  Partly.  .  .  .  You  need  care,  especially  when  you 
don't  need  it."  He  began  to  laugh.  "It's  only  when 
you're  well  that  I  worry." 

I  lay  looking  at  him,  striving  to  realize  the  change 
that  had  occurred  in  so  brief  a  time — trying  to  under- 
stand the  abrupt  severing  of  ties  and  conditions  to 
which,  already,  I  had  become  accustomed — perhaps 
attached. 

"They  all  sent  their  love  to  you,"  he  said.  "They 

308 


A   GUEST-CHAMBER 

knew  you  were  out  of  danger — I  told  them  there  was 
no  fracture,  only  a  slight  concussion.  Byram  came 
to  look  at  you;  he  brought  your  back  salary — all  of 
it.  I've  got  it." 

"Byram  came  here?" 

"Yes.  He  stood  over  there  beside  you,  snivelling 
into  his  red  bandanna.  And  Miss  Crystal  and  Jacque- 
line stood  here.  .  .  .  Jacqueline  kissed  you." 

After  a  moment  I  said :  "  Has  Jacqueline  gone  with 
them?" 

"Yes." 

There  was  another  pause,  longer  this  time. 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "Byram  knows  that  my  use- 
fulness as  a  lion-tamer  is  at  an  end." 

"Of  course,"   said  Speed,   simply. 

I  sighed. 

"  He  wants  you  for  the  horses,"  added  Speed.  "  But 
you  can  do  better  than  that." 

"I  don't  know,  .  .  .  perhaps." 

"  Besides,  they  sail  to-day  from  Lorient.  The  gov- 
ernor made  money  yesterday — enough  to  start  again. 
Poor  Byram!  He's  frantic  to  get  back  to  America; 
and,  oh,  Scarlett,  how  that  good  old  man  can  swear!" 

"Help  me  to  sit  up  in  bed,"  I  said;  "there — that's 
it!  Just  wedge  those  pillows  behind  my  shoulders." 

"All  right?" 

"Of  course.  I'm  going  to  dress.  Speed,  did  you 
say  that  little  Jacqueline  went  with  Byram?" 

He  looked  at  me  miserably. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

I  was  silent. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  she  went,  lugging  her  pet  cat 
in  her  arms.  She  would  go;  the  life  has  fascinated 
her.  I  begged  her  not  to — I  felt  I  was  disloyal  to  By- 
ram, too,  but  what  could  I  do?  I  tell  you,  Scarlett,  I 
\vish  I  had  never  seen  her,  never  persuaded  her  to  try 

309 


THE   MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

that  foolish  dive.  She'll  miss  some  day  —  like  the 
other  one." 

"It's  my  fault  more  than  yours,"  I  said.  "Couldn't 
you  persuade  her  to  give  it  up?" 

"I  offered  to  educate  her,  to  send  her  to  school,  to 
work  for  her,"  he  said.  "She  only  looked  at  me  out 
of  those  sea-blue  eyes — you  know  how  the  little  witch 
can  look  you  through  and  through — and  then — and 
then  she  walked  away  into  the  torch-glare,  clasping 
her  cat  to  her  breast,  and  I  saw  her  strike  a  fool  of  a 
soldier  who  pretended  to  stop  her!  Scarlett,  she  was 
a  strange  child — proud  and  dainty,  too,  with  all  her 
rags — you  remember — a  strange,  sweet  child — almost 
a  woman,  at  times,  and — I  thought  her  loyal — " 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  stared  moodily  at  the 
sea. 

"Meanwhile,"  I  said,  quietly,  "I  am  going  to  get 
up." 

He  gave  me  a  look  which  I  interpreted  as, "  Get  up 
and  be  damned!"  I  complied — in  part. 

"Oh,  help  me  into  these  things,  will  you?"  I  said, 
at  length ;  and  instantly  he  was  at  my  side,  gentle  and 
patient,  lacing  my  shoes,  because  it  made  my  head 
ache  to  bend  over,  buttoning  collar  and  cravat,  and 
slipping  my  coat  on  while  I  leaned  against  the  tum- 
bled bed. 

"  Well!"  I  said,  with  a  grimace,  and  stood  up,  shakily. 

"  Well,"  he  echoed,  "  here  we  are  again,  as  poor  little 
Grigg  says." 

"With  our  salaries  in  our  pockets  and  our  posses- 
sions on  our  backs." 

"  And  no  prospects,"  he  added,  gayly. 

"Not  a  blessed  one,  unless  we  count  a  prospect  of 
trouble  with  Buckhurst." 

"  He  won't  trouble  us  unless  we  interfere  with  him," 
observed  Speed,  drumming  nervously  on  the  window. 

.310 


A    GUEST-CHAMBER 

"But  I'm  going  to,"  I  said,  surprised. 

"Going  to  interfere?"  he  asked,  wheeling  to  scowl 
at  me. 

"Certainly." 

"Why?  We're  not  in  government  employ.  What 
do  we  care  about  this  row?  If  these  Frenchmen  are 
tired  of  battering  the  Germans  they'll  batter  each  other, 
and  we  can't  help  it,  can  we?" 

"We  can  help  Buckhurst's  annoying  Madame  de 
Vassart." 

"Only  by  getting  her  to  leave  the  country,"  said 
Speed.  "She  will  understand  that,  too."  He  paused, 
rubbing  his  nose  reflectively.  "Scarlett,  what  do  you 
suppose  Buckhurst  is  up  to?" 

"  I  haven't  an  idea,"  I  replied.  "  All  I  know  is  that, 
in  all  probability,  he  came  here  to  attempt  to  rob  the 
treasure-trains — and  that  was  your  theory,  too,  you 
remember?" 

And  I  continued,  reminding  Speed  that  Buckhurst 
had  collected  his  ruffianly  franc  company  in  the  forest ; 
that  the  day  the  cruiser  sailed  he  had  appeared  in  Para- 
dise to  proclaim  the  commune;  that  doubtless  he  had 
signalled,  from  the  semaphore,  orders  for  the  cruiser's 
departure ;  that  a  few  hours  later  his  red  battalion  had 
marched  into  Paradise. 

"Yes,  that's  all  logical,"  said  Speed,  "but  how 
could  Buckhurst  know  the  secret-code  signals  which 
the  cruiser  must  have  received  before  she  sailed?  To 
hoist  them  on  the  semaphore,  he  must  have  had  a 
code-book." 

I  thought  a  moment.  "Suppose  Momac  is  with 
him?" 

Speed  fairly  jumped.  "That's  it!  That's  the  link 
we  were  hunting  for!  It's  Momac — it  must  be  Mor- 
nac!  He  is  the  only  man;  he  had  access  to  every- 
thing. And  now  that  his  Emperor  is  a  prisoner  and 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

his  Empress  a  fugitive,  the  miserable  hound  has  noth- 
ing [to  lose  by  the  anarchy  he  once  hoped  to  profit 
by.  Tell  me,  Scarlett,  does  the  tail  wag  the  dog, 
after  all?  And  which  is  the  dog,  Buckhurst  or 
Mornac?" 

"I  once  thought  it  was  Buckhurst,"  I  said. 

"So  did  I,  but — I  don't  know  now.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do,  either.  I  don't  know  anything!" 

I  began  to  walk  about  the  room,  carefully,  for  my 
knees  were  weak,  though  I  had  no  headache. 

"  It's  a  shame  for  a  pair  of  hulking  brutes  like  you 
and  me  to  desecrate  this  bedroom,"  I  muttered.  "  Mud 
on  the  floor — look  at  it!  Sawdust  and  candle- wax 
over  everything !  What's  that — all  that  on  the  lounge? 
Has  a  dog  or  a  cat  been  rolling  over  it?  It's  plastered 
with  tan-colored  hairs!" 

"Lion's  hairs  from  your  coat,"  he  observed,  grimly. 

I  looked  at  them  for  a  moment  rather  soberly.  They 
glistened  like  gold  in  the  early  sunshine. 

Speed  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something,  but  closed 
it  abruptly  as  a  very  faint  tapping  sounded  on  our 
door. 

I  opened  it;  Sylvia  Elven  stood  in  the  hallway. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  in  ungracious  astonishment,  "then 
you  are  not  on  the  grave's  awful  verge,  .  .  .  are 

you?" 

"I  hope  you  didn't  expect  to  discover  me  there?" 
I  replied,  laughing. 

"Expect  it?  Indeed  I  did,  monsieur,  ...  or  I 
shouldn't  be  here  at  sunrise,  scratching  at  your  door 
for  news  of  you.  This,"  she  said,  petulantly,  "is 
enough  to  vex  any  saint!" 

"Any  other  saint,"  I  corrected,  gravely.  "I  admit 
it,  mademoiselle,  I  am  a  nuisance;  so  is  my  comrade. 
We  have  only  to  express  our  deep  gratitude  and  go." 

"  Go?  Do  you  think  we  will  let  you  go,  with  all  those 

312 


A    GUEST-CHAMBER 

bandits  roaming  the  moors  outside  our  windows?  And 
you  call  that  gratitude?" 

"Does  Madame  de  Vassart  desire  us  to  stay?"  I 
asked,  trying  not  to  speak  too  eagerly. 

Sylvia  Elven  gave  me  a  scornful  glance. 

"Must  we  implore  you,  monsieur,  to  protect  us? 
We  will,  if  you  wish  it.  I  know  I'm  ill-humored,  but 
it's  scarcely  daybreak,  and  we've  sat  up  all  night  on 
your  account — Madame  de  Vassart  would  not  allow 
me  to  go  to  bed — and  if  I  am  brusque  with  you,  remem- 
ber I  was  obliged  to  sleep  in  a  chair  —  and  I  hope 
you  feel  that  you  have  put  me  to  very  great  incon- 
venience." 

"I  feel  that  way  .  .  .  about  Madame  de  Vassart," 
I  said,  laughing  at  the  pretty,  pouting  mouth  and 
sleepy  eyes  of  this  amusingly  exasperated  young 
girl,  who  resembled  a  rumpled  Dresden  shepherdess 
more  than  anything  else.  I  added  that  we  would  be 
glad  to  stay  until  the  communist  free-rifles  took  them- 
selves off.  For  which  she  thanked  me  with  an  ex- 
aggerated courtesy  and  retired,  furiously  conscious 
that  she  had  not  only  slept  in  her  clothes,  but  that 
she  looked  it. 

"That  was  Madame  de  Vassart's  companion,  wasn't 
it?"  asked  Speed. 

"  Yes,  Sylvia  Elven.  ...  I  don't  know  what  she  is 
— I  know  what  she  was — no,  I  don't,  either.  I  only 
know  what  Jarras  says  she  was." 

Speed  raised  his  eyebrows.     "And  what  was  that?" 

"Actress,  at  the  Odeon." 

"  Never  heard  of  her  being  at  the  Od£on,"  he  said. 

"You  heard  of  her  as  one  of  that  group  at  La 
Trappe?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  when  I  was  looking  for  Buckhurst  in  Mors- 
bronn,  Jarras  telegraphed  me  descriptions  of  the  people 

313 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

I  was  to  arrest  at  La  Trappe,  and  he  mentioned  her  as 
Mademoiselle  Sylvia  Elven,  lately  of  the  Ode'on." 

"That  was  a  mistake,"  said  Speed.  "What  he 
meant  to  say  was  that  she  was  lately  a  resident  of  the 
Odeonsplatz.  He  knew  that.  It  must  have  been  a 
telegraphic  error." 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  asked,  surprised. 

"  Because  I  furnished  Jarras  with  the  data.  It's  in 
her  dossier." 

"Odeon — Odeonsplatz/'  I  muttered,  trying  to  un 
derstand.  "What  is  the  Odeonsplatz?  A  square  in 
some  German  city,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  a  square  in  the  capital  of  Bavaria — Munich." 

"But — but  she  isn't  a  German,  is  she?  Is  she?"  I 
repeated,  staring  at  Speed,  who  was  looking  keenly  at 
me,  with  eyes  partly  closed. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Well,  upon  my  soul!"  I  said,  slowly,  emphasizing 
every  word  with  a  noiseless  blow  on  the  table. 

"Didn't  you  know  it?  Wait!  Hold  on,"  he  said, 
"let's  go  slowly — let's  go  very  slowly.  She  is  part- 
ly German  by  birth.  That  proves  nothing.  Granted 
that  Jarras  suspected  her,  not  as  a  social  agitator,  but 
as  a  German  agent.  Granted  he  did  not  tell  you  what 
he  suspected,  but  merely  ordered  her  arrest  with  the 
others — perhaps  under  cover  of  Buckhurst's  arrest — 
you  know  what  a  secret  man,  the  Emperor  was — how, 
if  he  wanted  a  man,  he'd  never  chase  him,  but  run  in 
the  opposite  direction  and  head  him  off  half-way  around 
the  world.  So,  granted  all  this,  I  say,  what's  to  prove 
Jarras  was  right?" 

"  Does  her  dossier  prove  it?     You  have  read  it." 

"  Well,  her  dossier  was  rather  incomplete.  We  knew 
that  she  went  about  a  good  deal  in  Paris — went  to  the 
Tuileries,  too  She  was  married  once.  Didn't  you 
know  even  that?" 

314 


A   GUEST-CHAMBER 

"Married!"  I  exclaimed. 

"To  a  Russian  brute — I've  forgotten  his  name,  but 
I've  seen  him — one  of  the  kind  with  high  cheek-bones 
and  black  eyes.  She  got  her  divorce  in  England; 
that's  on  record,  and  we  have  it  in  her  dossier.  Then, 
going  back  still  further,  we  know  that  her  father  was  a 
Bavarian,  a  petty  noble  of  some  sort — baron,  I  believe. 
Her  mother's  name  was  Elven,  a  Breton  peasant ;  it 
was  a  mesalliance — trouble  of  all  sorts — I  forget,  but 
I  believe  her  uncle  brought  her  up.  Her  uncle  was 
military  attach^  of  the  German  embassy  to  Paris.  .  .  . 
You  see  how  she  slipped  into  society — and  you  know 
what  society  under  the  Empire  was." 

"Speed,"  I  said,  "why  on  earth  didn't  you  tell  me 
all  this  before?" 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  supposed  Jarras  had  told  you; 
or  that,  if  you  didn't  know  it,  it  did  not  concern  us  at 
all." 

"But  it  does  concern  —  a  person  I  know,"  I  said, 
quickly,  thinking  of  poor  Kelly  Eyre.  "And  it  ex- 
plains a  lot  of  things — or,  rather,  places  them  under  a 
new  light." 

"What  light?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  she  has  consistently  lied  to  me. 
For  another,  I  believe  her  to  be  hand-in-glove  with  Karl 
Marx  and  the  French  leaders — not  Buckhurst,  but  the 
real  leaders  of  the  social  revolt ;  not  as  a  genuine  disciple, 
but  as  a  German  agent,  with  orders  to  foment  disorder 
of  any  kind  which  might  tend  to  embarrass  and  weaken 
the  French  government  in  this  crisis." 

"You're  inclined  to  believe  that?"  he  asked,  much 
interested. 

"Yes,  I  am.  France  is  full  of  German  agents;  the 
Tuileries  was  not  exempt — you  know  it  as  well  as  I. 
Paris  swarmed  with  spies  of  every  kind,  high  and  low 
in  the  social  scale.  The  embassies  were  nests  of  spies ; 

315 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

every  salon  a  breeding  spot  of  intrigue;  the  foreign 
governments  employed  the  grande  dame  as  well  as 
the  grisette.  Do  you  remember  the  military-balloon 
scandal?" 

"Indistinctly.  .  .  .  Some  poor  devil  gave  a  woman 
government  papers." 

"Technically  they  were  government  papers,  but  he 
considered  them  his  own.  Well,  the  woman  who  re- 
ceived those  papers  is  down-stairs." 

He  gave  a  short  whistle  of  astonishment. 

"You  are  sure,  Scarlett?" 

"Perfectly  certain." 

"Then,  if  you  are  certain,  that  settles  the  question 
of  Mademoiselle  Elven's  present  occupation." 

I  rose  and  began  to  move  around  the  room  restlessly. 

"  But,  after  all,"  I  said,  "  that  concerns  us  no  longer." 

"How  can  it  concern  two  Americans  out  of  a  job?" 
he  observed,  with  a  shrug.  "The  whole  fabric  of 
French  politics  is  rotten  to  the  foundation.  It's  totter- 
ing; a  shake  will  bring  it  down.  Let  it  tumble.  I 
tell  you  this  nation  needs  the  purification  of  fire.  Our 
own  country  has  just  gone  through  it;  France  can  do 
it,  too.  She's  got  to,  or  she's  lost!" 

He  looked  at  me  earnestly.  "I  love  the  country," 
he  said ;  "  it's  fed  me  and  harbored  me.  But  I  wouldn't 
lift  a  finger  to  put  a  single  patch  on  this  makeshift  of 
a  government;  I  wouldn't  stave  off  the  crash  if  I  could. 
And  it's  coming!  You  and  I  have  seen  something  of 
the  rottenness  of  the  underpinning  which  props  up 
empires.  You  and  I,  Scarlett,  have  learned  a  few  of 
the  shameful  secrets  which  even  an  enemy  to  France 
would  not  drag  out  into  the  daylight." 

I  had  never  seen  him  so  deeply  moved. 

"Is  there  hope — is  there  a  glimmer  of  hope  to  incite 
anybody  while  these  conditions  endure?"  he  continued, 
bitterly. 


A    GUEST-CHAMBER 

"  No.  France  must  suffer,  France  must  stand  alone 
in  terrible  humiliation,  France  must  offer  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  fire  and  mount  the  altar  herself! 

"Then,  and  only  then,  shall  the  nation,  purified, 
reborn,  rise  and  live,  and  build  again,  setting  a  beacon 
of  civilized  freedom  high  as  the  beacon  we  Americans 
are  raising,  .  .  .  slowly  yet  surely  raising,  to  the  glory 
of  God,  Scarlett — to  the  glory  of  God.  No  other  dedi- 
cation can  be  justified  in  this  world." 


XIX 

TRfiCOURT  GARDEN 

A30UT  nine  o'clock  we  were  summoned  by  a  Bre- 
ton maid  to  the  pretty  breakfast-room  below,  and 
I  was  ashamed  to  go  with  my  shabby  clothes,  ban- 
daged head,  and  face  the  color  of  clay. 

The  young  countess  was  not  present;  Sylvia  Elven 
offered  us  a  supercilious  welcome  to  a  breakfast  the 
counterpart  of  which  I  had  not  seen  in  years — one  of 
those  American  breakfasts  which  even  we,  since  the 
Paris  Exposition,  are  beginning  to  discard  for  the  sim- 
pler French  breakfast  of  coffee  and  rolls. 

"This  is  all  in  your  honor,"  observed  Sylvia,  turn- 
ing up  her  nose  at  the  array  of  poached  eggs,  fragrant 
sausages,  crisp  potatoes,  piles  of  buttered  toast,  muf- 
fins, marmalade,  and  fruit. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  it,"  said  Speed. 

"It  is  Madame  de  Vassart's  idea,  not  mine,"  she 
observed,  looking  across  the  table  at  me.  "Will  the 
gentleman  with  nine  lives  have  coffee  or  chocolate?" 

The  fruit  consisted  of  grapes  and  those  winy  Breton 
cider-apples  from  Bannalec.  We  began  with  these  in 
decorous  silence. 

Speed  ventured  a  few  comments  on  the  cultivation  of 
fruit,  of  which  he  knew  nothing;  neither  he  nor  his 
subject  was  encouraged. 

Presently,  however,  Sylvia  glanced  up  at  him  with 
a  malicious  smile,  saying:  "I  notice  that  you  have 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

been  in  the  foreign  division  of  the  Imperial  Military 
Police,  monsieur." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?"  asked  Speed,  calmly. 

"When  you  seated  yourself  in  your  chair,"  said 
Sylvia,  "you  made  a  gesture  with  your  left  hand 
as  though  to  unhook  the  sabre  —  which  was  not 
there." 

Speed  laughed.  "But  why  the  police?  I  might 
have  been  in  the  cavalry,  mademoiselle;  for  that  mat- 
ter, I  might  have  been  an  officer  in  any  arm  of  the  ser- 
vice. They  all  carry  swords  or  sabres." 

"But  only  the  military  police  and  the  gendarmerie 
wear  aiguilettes,"  she  replied.  "When  you  bend 
over  your  plate  your  fingers  are  ever  unconsciously 
searching  for  those  swinging,  gold-tipped  cords  —  to 
keep  them  out  of  your  coffee-cup,  monsieur." 

The  muscles  in  Speed's  lean,  bronzed  cheeks  tight- 
ened ;  he  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"Might  I  not  have  been  in  the  gendarmerie?"  he 
asked.  "  How  do  you  know  I  was  not?" 

"Does  the  gendarmerie  wear  the  sabre-tache?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,  but — " 

"Do  the  military  police?" 

"No — that  is,  the  foreign  division  did,  when  it  ex- 
isted." 

"You  are  sitting,  monsieur,"  she  said,  placidly, 
"  with  your  left  foot  so  far  under  the  table  that  it  quite 
inadvertently  presses  my  shoe-tip." 

Speed  withdrew  his  leg  with  a  jerk,  asking  par- 
don. 

"It  is  a  habit  perfectly  pardonable  in  a  man  who  is 
careful  that  his  spur  shall  not  scratch  or  tear  a  patent- 
leather  sabre-tache,"  she  said. 

I  had  absolutely  nothing  to  say;  we  both  laughed 
feebly,  I  believe. 

I  saw  temptation  struggling  with  Speed's  caution; 

319 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

I,  too,  was  almost  willing  to  drop  a  hint  that  might 
change  her  amusement  to  speculation,  if  not  to  alarm. 

So  this  was  the  woman  for  whose  caprice  Kelly  Eyre 
had  wrecked  his  prospects !  Clever  —  oh,  certainly 
clever.  But  she  had  made  the  inevitable  slip  that  such 
clever  people  always  make  sooner  or  later.  And  in  a 
bantering  message  to  her  victim  she  had  completed 
the  chain  against  herself — a  chain  of  which  I  might 
have  been  left  in  absolute  ignorance.  Impulse  prob- 
ably did  it — reasonless  and  perhaps  malicious  caprice 
— the  instinct  of  a  pretty  woman  to  stir  up  memory  in 
a  discarded  and  long  -  forgotten  victim — just  to  note 
the  effect — just  to  see  if  there  still  remains  one  nerve, 
one  pulse-beat  to  respond. 

"  Will  the  pensive  gentleman  with  nine  lives  have  a 
little  more  nourishment  to  sustain  him?"  she  asked. 

Looking  up  from  my  empty  plate,  I  declined  politely ; 
and  we  followed  her  signal  to  rise. 

"There  is  a  Mr.  Kelly  Eyre,"  she  said  to  Speed, 
"connected  with  your  circus.  Has  he  gone  with  the 
others?" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  Really?"  she  mused,  amiably.  "  I  knew  him  as  a 
student  in  Paris,  when  he  was  very  young — and  I  was 
younger.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  him — 
once  more." 

"Did  you  not  see  him?"  I  asked,  abruptly. 

Her  back  was  toward  me;  very  deliberately  she 
turned  her  pretty  head  and  looked  at  me  over  her  shoul- 
der, studying  my  face  a  moment. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen 
him — once  more,"  she  said,  as  though  she  had  first 
calculated  the  effect  on  me  of  a  different  reply. 

She  led  the  way  into  that  small  room  overlook- 
ing the  garden  where  I  had  been  twice  received  by 
Madame  de  Vassart.  Here  she  took  leave  of  us, 

.320 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

abandoning  us  to  our  own  designs.  Mine  was  to 
find  a  large  arm  -  chair  and  sit  down  in  it,  and  give 
Speed  a  few  instructions.  Speed's  was  to  prowl 
around  Paradise  for  information,  and,  if  passible, 
telegraph  to  Lorient  for  troops  to  catch  Buckhurst 
red-handed. 

He  left  me  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  "  Chanson 
de  Roland,"  saying  that  he  would  return  in  a  little  while 
with  any  news  he  might  pick  up,  and  that  he  would  do 
his  best  to  catch  Buckhurst  in  the  foolish  trap  which 
that  gentleman  had  set  for  others. 

Tiring  of  the  poem,  I  turned  my  eyes  toward  the 
garden,  where,  in  the  sunshine,  heaps  of  crisped  leaves 
lay  drifted  along  the  base  of  the  wall  or  scattered  be- 
tween the  rows  of  herbs  which  were  still  ripely  green. 
The  apricots  had  lost  their  leaves,  so  had  the  grape- 
vines and  the  fig-trees;  but  the  peach-trees  were  in 
foliage;  pansies  and  perpetual  roses  bloomed  amid 
sere  and  seedy  thickets  of  larkspurs,  phlox,  and  dead 
delphinium. 

On  the  wall  a  cat  sat,  sunning  her  sleek  flanks. 
Something  about  the  animal  seemed  familiar  to  me, 
and  after  a  while  I  made  up  my  mind  that  this  was 
Ange  Pitou,  Jacqueline's  pet,  abandoned  by  her  mis- 
tress and  now  a  feline  derelict.  Speed  must  have  been 
mistaken  when  he  told  me  that  Jacqueline  had  taken 
her  cat;  or  possibly  the  home-haunting  instinct  had 
brought  the  creature  back,  abandoning  her  mistress 
to  her  fortunes. 

If  I  had  been  in  my  own  house  I  should  have  offered 
Ange  Pitou  hospitality;  as  it  was.  I  walked  out  into 
the  sunny  garden  and  made  courteous  advances  which 
were  ignored.  I  watched  the  cat  for  a  few  moments, 
then  sat  down  on  the  bench.  The  inertia  which  fol- 
lows recovery  from  a  shock,  however  light,  left  me 
with  the  lazy  acquiescence  of  a  convalescent,  willing 

321 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

to  let  the  world  drift  for  an  hour  or  two,  contented  to 
relax,  apathetic,  comfortable. 

Seaward  the  gulls  sailed  like  white  feathers  float- 
ing ;  the  rocky  ramparts  of  Groix  rose  clear-cut  againsi 
a  horizon  where  no  haze  curtained  the  sea ;  the  break- 
ers had  receded  from  the  coast  on  a  heavy  ebb-tide, 
and  I  saw  them  in  frothy  outline,  noiselessly  churning 
the  shallows  beyond  the  outer  bar. 

And  then  my  reverie  ended  abruptly;  a  step  on  the 
gravel  walk  brought  me  to  my  feet.  .  .  .  There  she 
stood,  lovely  in  a  fresh  morning-gown  deeply  belted 
with  turquoise-shells,  her  ruddy  hair  glistening,  coiled 
low  on  a  neck  of  snow. 

For  the  first  time  she  showed  embarrassment  in  her 
greeting,  scarcely  touching  my  hand,  speaking  with 
a  new  constraint  in  a  voice  which  grew  colder  as  she 
hesitated. 

"  We  were  frightened ;  we  are  so  glad  that  you  were 
not  badly  hurt.  I  thought  you  might  find  it  comfort- 
able here — of  course  I  could  not  know  that  you  were 
not  seriously  injured." 

"That  is  fortunate  for  me,"  I  said,  pleasantly,  "for 
I  am  afraid  you  would  not  have  offered  this  shelter  if 
you  had  known  how  little  injured  I  really  was." 

"Yes,  I  should  have  offered  ii — had  I  reason  to  be- 
lieve you  would  have  accepted.  I  have  felt  that  per- 
haps you  might  think  what  I  have  done  was  unwar- 
ranted." 

"  I  think  you  did  the  most  graciously  unselfish  thing 
a  woman  could  do,"  I  said,  quickly.  "You  offered 
your  best;  and  the  man  who  took  it  cannot — dare  not 
— express  his  gratitude." 

The  emotion  in  my  voice  warned  me  to  cease;  the 
faintest  color  tinted  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  at  me 
with  beautiful,  grave  eyes  that  slowly  grew  inscrutable, 
leaving  me  standing  diffident  and  silent  before  her. 

322 


TRECOURT    GARDEN 

The  breeze  shifted,  bringing  with  it  the  hollow  sea- 
thunder.  She  turned  her  head  and  glanced  out  across 
the  ocean,  hands  behind  her,  fingers  linked. 

"I  have  come  here  into  your  garden  uninvited,"  I 
said. 

"Shall  we  sit  here  —  a  moment?"  she  suggested, 
without  turning. 

Presently  she  seated  herself  in  one  corner  of  the 
bench;  her  gaze  wandered  over  the  partly  blighted 
garden,  then  once  more  centred  on  the  seaward  sky- 
line. 

The  color  of  her  hands,  her  neck,  fascinated  me. 
That  flesh  texture  of  snow  and  roses,  firmly  and  deli- 
cately modelled,  which  sometimes  is  seen  with  red 
hair,  I  had  seen  once  before  in  a  picture  by  a  Spanish 
master,  but  never,  until  now,  in  real  life. 

And  she  was  life  incarnate  in  her  wholesome  beauty 
— a  beauty  of  which  I  had  perceived  only  the  sad  shadow 
at  La  Trappe  —  a  sweet,  healthy,  exquisite  woman, 
moulded,  fashioned,  colored  by  a  greater  Master  than 
the  Spanish  painter  dreaming  of  perfection  centuries 
ago. 

In  the  sun  a  fragrance  grew — the  subtle  incense 
from  her  gown — perhaps  from  her  hair. 

"Autumn  is  already  gone;  we  are  close  to  winter," 
she  said,  under  her  breath.  "See,  there  is  nothing 
left — scarcely  a  blossom — a  rose  or  two;  but  the  first 
frost  will  scatter  the  petals.  Look  at  the  pinks;  look 
at  the  dead  leaves.  Ah,  tristesse,  tristesse!  The  life 
of  summer  is  too  short ;  the  life  of  flowers  is  too  short ; 
so  are  our  lives,  Monsieur  Scarlett.  Do  you  believe  it?" 

"Yes— now." 

She  was  very  still  for  a  while,  her  head  bent  toward 
the  sea.  Then,  without  turning :  "  Have  you  not  al- 
ways believed  it?" 

"No,  madame." 

323 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"Then  .  .  .  why  do  you  believe  it  ...  now?" 

"Because,  since  we  have  become  friends,  life  seems 
pitiably  short  for  such  a  friendship." 

She  smiled  without  moving. 

"  That  is  a  ...  very  beautiful  .  .  .  compliment,  mon- 
sieur." 

"It  owes  its  beauty  to  its  truth,  madame." 

"And  that  reply  is  illogical,"  she  said,  turning  to 
look  at  me  with  brilliant  eyes  and  a  gay  smile  which 
emphasized  the  sensitive  mouth's  faint  droop.  "Il- 
logical, because  truth  is  not  always  beautiful.  As 
example:  you  were  very  near  to  death  yesterday. 
That  is  the  truth,  but  it  is  not  beautiful  at  all." 

"  Ah,  madame,  it  is  you  who  are  illogical,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"I?"  she  cried.     "Prove  it!" 

But  I  would  not,  spite  of  her  challenge  and  bright 
mockery. 

In  that  flash  all  of  our  comradeship  returned,  bring- 
ing with  it  something  new,  which  I  dared  not  think  was 
intimacy. 

Yet  constraint  fell  away  like  a  curtain  between  us, 
and  though  she  dominated,  and  I  was  afraid  lest  I 
overstep  limits  which  I  myself  had  set,  the  charm  of 
her  careless  confidence,  her  pretty,  undissembled  ca- 
prices, her  pleasure  in  a  delicately  intimate  badinage, 
gave  me  something  of  a  self-reliance,  a  freedom  that  I 
had  not  known  in  a  woman's  presence  for  many  years. 

"We  brought  you  here  because  we  thought  it  was 
good  for  you,"  she  said,  reverting  maliciously  to  the 
theme  that  had  at  first  embarrassed  her.  "We  were 
perfectly  certain  that  you  have  always  been  unfit  to 
take  care  of  yourself.  Now  we  have  the  proofs." 

"  Mademoiselle  Elven  said  that  you  harbored  us  only 
because  you  were  afraid  of  those  bandits  who  have 
arrived  in  Paradise,"  I  observed. 

324 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

"Afraid!"  she  said,  scornfully.  "Oh,  you  are  mak- 
ing fun  of  me  now.  Indeed,  when  Mr.  Buckhurst 
came  last  night  I  had  my  men  conduct  him  to  the 
outer  gate!" 

"Did  he  come  last  night?"  I  asked,  troubled. 

"Yes."     She  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"Alone?" 

"  That  unspeakable  creature,  Mornac,  was  with  him. 
I  had  no  idea  he  was  here ;  had  you?" 

I  was  silent.  Did  Mornac  mean  trouble  for  me? 
Yet  how  could  he,  shorn  now  of  all  authority? 

The  thought  seemed  to  occur  to  her,  too,  and  she 
looked  up  quickly,  asking  if  I  had  anything  to  fear. 

"Only  for  you,"  I  said. 

"For  me?  Why?  I  am  not  afraid  of  such  men. 
I  have  servants  on  whom  I  can  call  to  disembarrass 
me  of  such  people."  She  hesitated;  the  memory  of 
her  deception,  of  what  she  had  suffered  at  Buckhurst's 
hands,  brought  a  glint  of  anger  into  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"My  innocence  shames  me,"  she  said.  "I  merited 
what  I  received  in  such  company.  It  was  you  who 
saved  me  from  myself." 

"A  noble  mind  thinks  nobly,"  I  said.  "Theirs  is 
the  shame,  not  yours,  that  you  could  not  understand 
treachery — that  you  never  can  understand  it.  As  for 
me,  I  was  an  accident,  which  warned  you  in  time  that 
all  the  world  was  not  as  good  and  true  as  you  desired 
to  believe  it." 

She  sat  looking  at  me  curiously.  "I  wonder,"  she 
said,  "why  it  is  that  you  do  not  know  your  own 
value?" 

"My  value — to  whom?" 

"To  ...  everybody — to  the  world — to  people." 

"  Am  I  of  any  value  to  you,  madame?" 

The  pulsing  moments  passed  and  she  did  not  answer, 
and  I  bit  my  lip  and  waited.  At  last  she  said,  coolly : 

325 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  A  man  must  appraise  himself.  If  he  chooses,  he  is 
valuable.  But  values  are  comparative,  and  depend 
on  individual  taste.  .  .  .  Yes,  you  are  of  some  value 
to  me,  ...  or  I  should  not  be  here  with  you,  ...  or  I 
should  not  find  it  my  pleasure  to  be  here — or  I  should 
not  trust  you,  come  to  you  with  my  petty  troubles,  ask 
your  experience  to  help  me,  perhaps  protect  me." 

She  bent  her  head  with  adorable  diffidence.  "  Mon- 
sieur Scarlett,  I  have  never  before  had  a  friend  who 
thought  first  of  me  and  last  of  himself." 

I  leaned  on  the  back  of  the  bench,  resting  my  ban- 
daged forehead  on  my  hand. 

She  looked  up  after  a  moment,  and  her  face  grew 
serious. 

"Are  you  suffering?"  she  asked.  "Your  face  is 
white  as  my  sleeve." 

"I  feel  curiously  tired,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  Then  you  must  have  some  tea,  and  I  will  brew  it 
myself.  You  shall  not  object!  No — it  is  useless,  be- 
cause I  am  determined.  And  you  shall  lie  down  in 
the  little  tea-room,  where  I  found  you  that  day  when 
you  first  came  to  Tr£court." 

"I  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  anything — if  you  are 
there." 

"Even  drink  tea  when  you  abhor  it?  Then  I  cer- 
tainly ought  to  reward  you  with  my  presence  at  the 
rite.  .  .  .  Are  you  dizzy?  You  are  terribly  pale.  .  .  . 
Would  you  lean  on  my  arm?" 

I  was  not  dizzy,  but  I  did  so;  and  if  such  deceit  is 
not  pardonable,  there  is  no  justice  in  this  world  or  in 
the  next. 

The  tea  was  hot  and  harmless ;  I  lay  thinking  while 
she  sat  in  the  sunny  window-corner,  nibbling  biscuit 
and  marmalade,  and  watching  me  gravely. 

"My  appetite  is  dreadful  in  these  days,"  she  said; 
"age  increases  it;  I  have  just  had  my  chocolate,  yet 

326 


TRECOURT   GARDEX 

here  am  I,  eating  like  a  school-girl.  .  .  .  I  have  a  strange 
idea  that  I  am  exceedingly  3roung,  .  .  .  that  I  am  just 
beginning  to  live.  That  tired,  thin,  shabby  girl  you 
saw  at  La  Trappe  was  certainly  not  I.  ...  And  long 
before  that,  before  I  knew  you,  there  was  another  im- 
personal, half  -  awakened  creature,  who  watched  the 
world  surging  and  receding  around  her,  who  grew 
tired  even  of  violets  and  bonbons,  tired  of  the  compan- 
ionship of  the  indifferent,  hurt  by  the  intimacy  of  the 
unfriendly ;  and  I  cannot  believe  that  she  was  I.  ... 
Can  you?" 

"I  can  believe  it;  I  once  saw  you  then/'  I  said. 

She  looked  up  quickly.     "  Where?" 

"In  Paris." 

"When?" 

"  The  day  that  they  received  the  news  from  Mexico. 
You  sat  in  your  carriage  before  the  gates  of  the  war 
office." 

"I  remember,"  she  said,  staring  at  me.  Then  a 
slight  shudder  passed  over  her. 

Presently  she  said:  "Did  you  recognize  me  after- 
ward at  La  Trappe?" 

"Yes,  .  .  .  you  had  grown  more  beautiful." 

She  colored  and  bent  her  head. 

"You  remembered  me  all  that  time?  .  .  .  But  why 
didn't  you— didn't  you—"  She  laughed  nervously. 
"Why  didn't  we  know  each  other  in  those  years? 
Truly,  Monsieur  Scarlett,  I  needed  a  friend  then,  if 
ever ;  .  .  .  a  friend  who  thought  first  of  me  and  last  of 
himself." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Fancy,"  she  continued,  "your  passing  me  so  long 
jigo,  .  .  .  and  I  totally  unconscious,  sitting  there  in  my 
carriage,  .  .  .  never  dreaming  of  this  friendship  which 
I  ...  care  for  so  much!  ...  Do  you  remember  at  La 
Trappe  what  I  told  you,  there  on  the  staircase? — how 

327 


THB    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

sometimes  the  impulse  used  to  come  to  me  when  I  saw 
a  kindly  face  in  the  street  to  cry  out, '  Be  friends  with 
me!'  Do  you  remember?  ...  It  is  strange  that  I  did 
not  feel  that  impulse  when  you  passed  me  that  day  in 
Paris — feel  it  even  though  I  did  not  see  you — for  I 
sorely  needed  kindness  then,  kindness  and  wisdom; 
and  both  passed  by,  at  my  elbow,  .  .  .  and  I  did  not 
know."  She  bent  her  head,  smiling  with  an  effort. 
"You  should  have  thrown  yourself  astride  the  horse 
and  galloped  away  with  me.  .  .  .  They  did  those  things 
once,  Monsieur  Scarlett — on  this  very  spot,  too,  in  the 
days  of  the  Saxon  pirates." 

The  whirring  monotone  of  the  spinning-wheel  sud- 
denly filled  the  house ;  Sylvia  was  singing  at  her  wheel : 

"  Woe  to  the  maids  of  Paradise  1 

Yvonne  1 
Twice  have  the  Saxons  landed ;  twice  I 

Yvonne  1 
Yet  shall  Paradise  see  them  thrice, 

Yvonne!  Yvonne!  Marivonikl" 

"The  prophecy  of  that  Breton  spinning  song  is 
being  fulfilled,"  I  said.  "  For  the  third  time  we  Sax- 
ons have  come  to  Paradise,  you  see." 

"But  this  time  our  Saxons  are  not  very  formidable," 
she  said,  raising  her  beautiful  gray  eyes;  "and  the 
gwerz  says,  'Woe  to  the  maids  of  Paradise!'  Do  you 
intend  to  bring  woe  upon  us  maids  of  Paradise — do  you 
come  to  carry  us  off,  monsieur?" 

"If  you  will  go  with — me,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"All  of  us?" 

"Only  one,  madame." 

She  started  to  speak,  then  her  eyes  fell.  She  laughed 
uncertainly.  "Which  one  among  us,  if  you  please — 
mizilour  skier  ha  brillant  deuz  ar  fidelite?" 

"  Met  na  varwin  Ket  Kontant,  ma  na  varwan  fidel," 

328 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

I  said,  slowly,  as  the  words  of  the  song  came  back  to 
me.  "I  shall  choose  only  the  fairest  and  loveliest, 
rnadame.  You  know  it  is  always  that  way  in  the  story. " 
My  voice  was  not  perfectly  steady,  nor  was  hers  when 
she  smiled  and  wished  me  happiness  and  a  long  life 
with  the  maid  of  Paradise  I  had  chosen,  even  though  I 
took  her  by  force. 

Then  constraint  crept  in  between  us,  and  I  was  grimly 
weighing  the  friendship  this  woman  had  given  me — 
weighing  it  in  the  balance  against  a  single  hope. 

Once  she  looked  across  at  me  with  questioning  eyes 
in  which  I  thought  I  read  dawning  disappointment. 
It  almost  terrified  me.  ...  I  could  not  lose  her  con- 
fidence, ...  I  could  not/ and  go  through  life  without 
it.  ...  But  I  could  live  a  hopeless  life  to  its  end  with 
that  confidence.  .  .  .  And  I  must  do  so,  ...  and  be 
content. 

"I  suppose,"  said  I,  thinking  aloud,  "that  I  had 
better  go  to  England." 

"When?"  she  asked,  without  raising  her  head. 

"In  a  day  or  two.  I  can  find  employment  there,  I 
think." 

"Is  it  necessary  that  you  find  employment  ...  so 
soon?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  with  a  meaningless  laugh,  "I  fear  it 
is." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Oh,  the  army  —  horses  —  something  of  that  kind. 
Riding-master,  perhaps — perhaps  Scotland  Yard.  I 
may  not  be  able  to  pick  and  choose.  ...  If  I  ever  save 
enough  money  for  the  voyage,  perhaps  you  would  let 
me  come,  once  in  a  long  while,  to  pay  my  respects, 
madame?" 

"Yes,  .  .  .  come,  if  you  wish." 

She  said  no  more,  nor  did  I.  Presently  Sylvia  ap- 
peared with  a  peasant  woman,  and  the  young  countess 

329 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

went  away,  followed  by  the  housekeeper  with  her  keys 
at  her  girdle. 

I  rose  and  walked  to  the  window;  then,  nerveless 
and  depressed,  I  went  out  into  the  garden  again  to 
smoke  a  cigar. 

The  cat  had  disappeared;  I  traversed  the  garden, 
passed  through  the  side  wicket,  and  found  myself  on 
the  cliffs.  Almost  immediately  I  was  aware  of  a  young 
girl,  a  child,  seated  on  the  rocks,  her  chin  propped  on 
her  hands,  the  sea-wind  blowing  her  curly  elf-locks 
across  her  cheeks  and  eyes.  A  bundle  tied  in  a  hand- 
kerchief lay  beside  her ;  a  cat  dozed  in  her  lap,  its  sleek 
fur  stirring  in  the  wind. 

"Jacqueline!"  I  said,  gently. 

She  raised  her  head;  the  movement  awakened  the 
cat,  who  stood  up  in  her  lap,  stretching  and  yawning 
vigorously. 

"I  thought  you  were  to  sail  from  Lorient  to-day?" 

The  cat  stepped  purring  from  her  knees;  the  child 
rose,  pushing  back  her  hair  from  her  eyes  with  both 
hands. 

"Where  is  Speed?"  she  asked,  drowsily. 

"  Did  you  want  to  see  him,  Jacqueline?" 

"That  is  why  I  returned." 

"To  see  Speed?" 

"Parbleu." 

"And  you  are  going  to  let  the  others  sail  without 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"'  4nd  give  up  the  circus  forever,  Jacqueline?" 

"Y-es." 

"Just  because  you  want  to  see  Speed?" 

"Only  for  that." 

She  stood  rubbing  her  eyes  with  her  small  fists,  as 
though  just  awakened. 

"Oui/'  she  said,  without  emotion,  "c'est  comme  c,a, 
330 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

m'sieu.  Where  the  heart  is,  happiness  lies.  I  left 
the  others  at  the  city  gate;  I  said,  'Voyons,  let  us  be 
reasonable,  gentlemen.  I  am  happy  in  your  circus; 
I  am  happy  with  Speed;  I  can  be  contented  without 
your  circus,  but  I  cannot  be  contented  without  Speed. 
Voila!'  ...  and  then  I  went." 

"You  walked  back  all  the  way  from  Lorient?" 

"Bien  sur!  I  have  no  carriage  —  I,  Jacqueline." 
She  stretched  her  slim  figure,  raised  her  arms  slowly, 
and  yawned.  "Pardon,"  she  murmured,  "I  have 
slept  in  the  gorse — badly." 

"  Come  into  the  garden,"  I  said ;  "  we  can  talk  while 
you  rest." 

She  thanked  me  tranquilly,  picked  up  her  bundle, 
and  followed  me  with  a  slight  limp.  The  cat,  tail  up, 
came  behind. 

The  young  countess  was  standing  at  the  window 
as  we  approached  in  solemn  single  file  along  the  path, 
and  when  she  caught  sight  of  us  she  opened  the  door 
and  stepped  out  on  the  tiny  porch. 

"  Why,  this  is  our  little  Jacqueline,"  she  said,  quick- 
ly. "  They  have  taken  your  father  for  the  conscription, 
have  they  not,  my  child?  And  now  you  are  homeless!" 

"I  think  so,  madame." 

"  Then  you  will  stay  with  me  until  he  returns,  won't 
you,  little  one?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  Jacqueline  made  a 
grave  gesture.  "This  is  my  cat,  madame — Ange 
Pitou." 

The  countess  stared  at  the  cat,  then  broke  out  into 
the  prettiest  peal  of  laughter.  "Of  course  you  must 
bring  your  cat!  My  invitation  is  also  for  Ange  Pitou, 
you  understand." 

"Then  we  thank  you,  and  permit  ourselves  to  ac- 
cept, madame,"  said  Jacqueline.  "  We  are  very  glad 
because  we  are  quite  hungry,  and  we  have  thorns 

331 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

from  the  gorse  in  our  feet — "  She  broke  off  with 
a  joyous  little  cry:  "There  is  Speed!"  And  Speed, 
entering  the  garden  hurriedly,  stopped  short  in  his 
tracks. 

The  child  ran  to  him  and  threw  both  arms  around 
his  heck.  "Oh,  Speed!  Speed!"  she  stammered,  over 
and  over  again.  "I  was  too  lonely;  I  will  do  what 
you  wish;  I  will  be  instructed  in  the  graces  of  edu- 
cation—  truly  I  will.  I  am  glad  to  come  back  —  and 
I  am  so  tired,  Speed.  I  will  never  go  away  from  you 
again.  .  .  .  Oh,  Speed,  I  am  contented!  ...  Do  you 
love  me?" 

"Dearly,  little  sweetheart,"  he  said,  huskily,  trying 
to  steady  his  voice.  "  There !  Madame  the  countess 
is  waiting.  All  will  be  well  now."  He  turned,  smil- 
ing, toward  the  young  countess,  and  lifted  his  hat, 
then  stepped  back  and  fixed  me  with  a  blank  look  of 
dismay,  which  said  perfectly  plainly  that  he  had  un- 
pleasant news  to  communicate.  The  countess,  I  think, 
saw  that  look,  too,  for  she  gave  me  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible nod  and  took  Jacqueline's  hand  in  hers. 

"  If  there  are  thorns  in  your  feet  we  must  find  them," 
she  said,  sweetly.  "Will  you  come,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes,  madame,"  said  the  child,  with  an  adoring 
smile  at  Speed,  who  bent  and  kissed  her  upturned  face 
as  she  passed. 

They  went  into  the  house,  the  countess  holding 
Jacqueline's  thorn-scratched  hand,  the  cat  following, 
perfectly  self-possessed,  to  the  porch,  where  she  halted 
and  sat  down,  surveying  the  landscape  with  dignified 
indifference. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  turning  to  Speed,  "  what  new  deviltry 
is  going  on  in  Paradise  now?" 

"  Preparations  for  train-wrecking,  I  should  say,"  he. 
replied,  bluntly.  "  They  are  tinkering  with  the  trestle. 
Buckhurst's  ragamuffins  have  just  seized  the  railroad 

332 


TRECOURT    GARDEN 

station  at  Rose  -  Sainte  -  Anne,  where  the  main  line 
crosses,  you  know,  near  the  ravine  at  Lammerin.  I 
was  sure  there  was  something  extraordinary  going  to 
happen,  so  I  went  down  to  the  river,  hailed  Jeanne 
Rolland,  the  passeuse,  and  had  her  ferry  me  over  to 
Bois-Gilbert.  Then  I  made  for  the  telegraph,  gave 
the  operator  ten  francs  to  let  me  work  the  keys,  and 
called  up  the  arsenal  at  Lorient.  But  it  was  no  use, 
Scarlett,  the  governor  of  Lorient  can't  spare  a  soldier 
— not  a  single  gendarme.  It  seems  that  Uhlans  have 
been  signalled  north  of  Quimper,  and  Lorient  is  fran- 
tic, and  the  garrison  is  preparing  to  stand  siege." 

"You  mean,"  I  said,  indignantly,  "that  they're  not 
going  to  try  to  catch  Buckhurst  and  Mornac?" 

"That's  what  I  mean;  they're  scared  as  rabbits 
over  these  rumors  of  Uhlans  in  the  west  and  north." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  disgusted,  "  it  appears  to  me  that 
Buckhurst  is  going  to  get  off  scot-free  this  time — and 
Mornac,  too!  Did  you  know  that  Mornac  was  here?" 

"Know  it?  I  saw  him  an  hour  ago,  marshalling  a 
new  company  of  malcontents  in  the  square — a  bad  lot, 
Scarlett— deserters  from  Chanzy's  army,  from  Bour- 
baki,  from  Garibaldi — a  hundred  or  more  line  soldiers, 
dragoons  without  horses,  francs-tireurs,  Garibaldians, 
even  a  Turco,  from  Heaven  knows  where — bad  soldiers 
who  disgrace  France — marauders,  cowardly,  skulking 
mobiles — a  sweet  lot,  Scarlett,  to  be  let  loose  in  Madame 
de  Vassart's  vicinity." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  I  said,  seriously. 

"  And  I  earnestly  agree  with  you,"  muttered  Speed. 
"  That's  all  /  have  to  report,  except  that  your  friend, 
Robert  the  Lizard,  is  out  yonder  flat  on  his  belly  under 
a  gorse-bush,  and  he  wants  to  see  you." 

"The  Lizard!"  I  exclaimed.  "Come  on,  Speed. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  Yonder,  clothed  in  somebody's  line  uniform.     He's 

333 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

one  of  them.  Scarlett,  do  you  trust  him?  He  has  a 
rifle." 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  impatiently.  "Come  on,  man! 
It's  all  right ;  the  fellow  is  watching  Buckhurst  for  me." 
And  I  gave  Speed  a  nervous  push  toward  the  moors. 
We  started,  Speed  ostentatiously  placing  his  revolver 
in  his  side-pocket  so  that  he  could  shoot  through  his 
coat  if  necessary.  I  walked  beside  him,  closely  scan- 
ning the  stretch  of  open  moor  for  a  sign  of  life,  knowing 
all  the  while  that  it  is  easier  to  catch  moon-beams  in  a 
net  than  to  find  a  poacher  in  the  bracken.  But  Speed 
had  marked  him  down  as  he  might  mark  a  squatting 
quail,  and  suddenly  we  flushed  him,  rifle  clapped  to 
his  shoulder. 

"None  of  that,  my  friend,"  growled  Speed;  but  the 
poacher  at  sight  of  me  had  already  lowered  the  weapon. 

I  greeted  him  frankly,  offering  my  hand ;  he  took  it, 
then  his  hard  fist  fell  away  and  he  touched  his  cap. 

"I  have  done  what  you  wanted,"  he  said,  sullenly. 
"I  have  the  company's  rolls  —  here  they  are."  He 
dragged  from  his  baggy  trousers  pockets  a  mass  of 
filthy  papers,  closely  covered  with  smeared  writing. 
"Here  is  the  money,  too,"  he  said,  fishing  in  the  other 
pocket;  and,  to  my  astonishment,  he  produced  a  flat- 
tened, soiled  mass  of  bank-notes.  "Count  it,"  he 
added,  calmly. 

"  What  money  is  that?"  I  asked,  taking  it  reluctantly. 

"  Didn't  you  warn  me  to  get  that  box — the  steel  box 
that  Tric-Trac  sat  down  on  when  he  saw  me?" 

"Is  that  money  from  the  box?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  m'sieu.  I  could  not  bring  the  box,  and  there 
had  been  enough  blood  shed  over  it  already.  Besides, 
when  Buckhurst  broke  it  open  there  was  only  a  bit  of 
iron  for  the  scrap-heap  left." 

I  touched  Speed's  arm  to  call  his  attention;  the  poach- 
er shrugged  his  shoulders  and  continued:  "Tric-Trac 

334 


TRECOURT   GARDEN 

made  no  ceremony  with  me;  he  told  me  that  he  and 
Buckhurst  had  settled  this  Dr.  Delmont,  and  the  other 
— the  professor — Ta vernier." 

"Murdered  them?"  muttered  Speed. 

"Dame! — the  coup  du  Pere  Francois  is  murder,  I 
suppose." 

Speed  turned  to  me.  "That's  the  argot  for  stran- 
gling," he  said,  grimly. 

"Go  on,"  I  motioned  to  the  poacher.  "How  did 
you  get  the  money?" 

"Oh,  pour  $a — in  my  turn  I  turned  sonneur,"  he 
replied,  with  a  savage  smile. 

A  sonneur,  in  thieves'  slang,  is  a  creature  of  the 
footpad  type  who,  tripping  his  victim  flat,  seizes  him 
by  the  shoulders  and  beats  his  head  against  the  pave- 
ment until  he  renders  him  unconscious — if  he  doesn't 
kill  him. 

"It  was  pay-day,"  continued  the  Lizard.  "Buck- 
hurst  opened  the  box  and  I  heard  him — he  hammered  it 
open  with  a  cold  chisel.  I  was  standing  guard  on  the 
forest's  edge;  I  crept  back,  hearing  the  hammering 
and  the  little  bell  ringing  the  Angelus  of  Tric-Trac. 
It  was  close  to  dusk;  by  the  time  he  got  into  the  box 
it  was  dark  in  the  woods,  and  it  was  easy  to  jump  on 
his  back  and  strike — not  very  hard,  m'sieu — but,  I 
tell  you,  Buckhurst  lay  for  two  days  with  eyes  like  a 
sick  owl's !  He  knew  one  of  his  own  men  had  done  it. 
He  never  said  a  word,  but  I  know  he  thinks  it  was 
Tric-Trac.  .  .  .  And  when  he  is  ready — bon  soir,  Tric- 
Trac!" 

He  drew  his  right  hand  across  his  corded  throat  with 
a  horridly  suggestive  motion.  Speed  watched  him 
narrowly. 

I  asked  the  poacher  why  Buckhurst  had  come  to 
Paradise,  and  why  his  banditti  had  seized  the  railroad 
at  Rose-Sainte-Anne. 

335 


THE    MAIDS    OF   PARADISE 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  Lizard,  with  a  ferocious  leer,  "  that 
is  the  kernel  under  the  limpet's  tent!  And  I  have 
uncovered  it — I,  Robert  Garenne,  bon  sang  de  J£su!" 

He  stretched  out  his  powerful  arm  toward  the  sea. 
"Where  is  that  cruiser,  m'sieu?  Gone?  Yes,  but 
who  sent  her  off?  Buckhurst,  with  his  new  signal- 
book!  Where?  In  chase  of  a  sea-swallow,  or  a  frigate 
(bird).  Who  knows?  Listen,  messieurs!  We  are  to 
wreck  the  train  for  Brest  to-night.  Do  you  compre- 
hend?" 

"  Where?"  I  asked,  quietly. 

"Just  where  the  trestle  at  Lammerin  crosses  the 
ravine  below  the  house  of  Josephine  Tanguy." 

Speed  looked  around  at  me.  "  It's  the  treasure-train 
from  Lorient.  They're  probably  sending  the  crown 
diamonds  back  to  Brest  in  view  of  the  Uhlans  being 
seen  near  Quimper." 

"On  a  false  order?" 

"I  believe  so.  I  believe  that  Buckhurst  sent  the 
cruiser  to  Brest,  and  now  he's  started  the  treasure- 
trains  back  to  Brest  in  a  panic." 

"That  is  the  truth/'  said  the  Lizard;  "Tric-Trac 
told  me.  They  have  the  code-book  of  Mornac."  His 
eyes  began  to  light  up  with  that  terrible  anger  as  the 
name  of  his  blood  enemy  fell  from  his  lips;  his  nose 
twitched;  his  upper  lip  wrinkled  into  a  snarl. 

I  thought  quietly  for  a  moment,  then  asked  the 
poacher  whether  there  was  a  guard  at  the  semaphore 
of  Saint- Yssel. 

"  Yes,  the  soldier  Rolland,  who  says  he  understands 
the  telegraph — a  sot  from  Morlaix."  He  hesitated 
and  looked  across  the  open  moor  toward  Paradise. 
"I  must  go,"  he  muttered;  "I  am  on  guard  yonder." 

I  offered  him  my  hand  again ;  he  took  it,  looking  me 
sincerely  in  the  eyes. 

"Let  your  private  wrongs  wait  a  little  longer/'  I 
336 


TRfiCOURT   GARDEN 

said.     "I  think  we  can  catch  Buckhurst  and  Mornac 
alive.     Do  you  promise?" 

"  Y-es,"  he  replied. 

"Strike,  then,  like  a  Breton  I" 

We  struck  palms  heavily.  Then  he  turned  to  Speed 
and  motioned  him  to  retire. 

Speed  walked  slowly  toward  a  half-buried  bowlder 
and  sat  down  out  of  ear-shot. 

"For  your  sake/'  said  the  poacher,  clutching  my 
hand  in  a  tightening  grip — "for  your  sake  I  have  let 
Mornac  go — let  him  pass  me  at  arm's-length,  and  did 
not  strike.  You  have  dealt  openly  by  me — and  justly. 
No  man  can  say  I  betrayed  friendship.  But  I  swear 
to  you  that  if  you  miss  him  this  time,  I  shall  not  miss — 
I,  Robert  the  Lizard!" 

"You  mean  to  kill  Mornac?"  I  asked. 

His  eyes  blazed. 

"  Ami,"  he  said,  "I  once  spoke  of  'a  little  red  deer,' 
and  you  half  understood  me,  for  you  are  wise  in  strange 
ways,  as  I  am.*' 

"I  remember,"  I  said. 

His  strong  fingers  closed  tighter  on  my  hand. 
"Woman — or  doe — it's  all  one  now;  and  I  am  out  of 
prison — the  prison  he  sent  me  to!  Do  you  understand 
that  he  wronged  me — me,  the  soldier  Garenne,  in  gar- 
rison at  Vincennes;  he,  the  officer,  the  aristocrat?" 

He  choked,  crushing  my  hand  in  a  spasmodic  grip. 
"Ami,  the  little  red  deer  was  beautiful — to  me.  He 
took  her — the  doe — a  silly  maid  of  Paradise — and  I 
was  in  irons,  m'sieu,  for  three  years." 

He  glared  at  vacancy,  tears  falling  from  his  staring 
eyes. 

"Your  wife?"  I  asked,  quietly. 

"Yes,  ami." 

He  dropped  my  numbed  fingers  and  rubbed  his  eyes 
with  the  back  of  his  big  hand. 
»  337 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"  Then  Jacqueline  is  not  your  little  daughter?"  I 
asked,  gravely. 

"  Hers — not  mine.  That  has  been  the  most  terrible 
of  all  for  me — since  she  died — died  so  young,  too,  m'sieu 
— and  all  alone — in  Paris.  If  he  had  not  done  that — 
if  he  had  been  kind  to  her.  And  she  was  only  a  child, 
ami,  yet  he  left  her/' 

All  the  ferocity  in  his  eyes  was  gone;  he  raised  a 
vacant,  grief  -lined  visage  to  meet  mine,  and  stood 
stupidly,  heavy  hands  hanging. 

Then,  shoulders  sloping,  he  shambled  off  into  the 
thicket,  trailing  his  battered  rifle. 

When  he  was  very  far  away  I  motioned  to  Speed. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  we  had  better  try  to  do  some- 
thing at  the  semaphore  if  we  are  going  to  stop  that 
train  in  time." 


XX 

THE  SEMAPHORE 

THE  telegraph  station  at  the  semaphore  was  a 
little,  square,  stone  hut,  roofed  with  slate,  perched 
high  on  the  cliffs.  A  sun-scorched,  wooden  signal- 
tower  rose  in  front  of  it;  behind  it  a  line  of  telegraph 
poles  stretched  away  into  perspective  across  the  moors. 
Beyond  the  horizon  somewhere  lay  the  war-port  of 
Lorient,  with  its  arsenal,  anned  redoubts,  and  heavy 
bastions;  beyond  that  was  war. 

While  we  plodded  on,  hip  deep,  through  gorse  and 
thorn  and  heath,  we  cautiously  watched  a  spot  of  red 
moving  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  station;  and  as  we 
drew  nearer  we  could  see  the  sentry  very  distinctly, 
rifle  slung  muzzle  down,  slouching  his  beat  in  the 
sunshine. 

He  was  a  slovenly  specimen,  doubtless  a  deserter 
from  one  of  the  three  provincial  armies  now  forming 
for  the  hopeless  dash  at  Belfort  and  the  German  eastern 
communications. 

When  Speed  and  I  emerged  from  the  golden  gorse 
into  plain  view  the  sentinel  stopped  in  his  tracks, 
shoved  his  big,  red  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets, 
and  regarded  us  sulkily. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  this  gentleman?" 
whispered  Speed. 

"Reason  with  him,  first,"  I  said;  "a  louis  is  worth 
a  dozen  kicks." 

339 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

The  soldier  left  his  post  as  we  started  toward  him, 
and  advanced,  blinking  in  the  strong  sunshine,  meeting 
us  half-way. 

"Now,  bourgeois/'  he  said,  shaking  his  unkempt 
head,  "this  won't  do,  you  know.  Orders  are  to  keep 
off.  And,"  he  added,  in  a  bantering  tone,  "I'm  here 
to  enforce  them.  Alloiisl  Kn  route,  mes  amis!" 

"Are  you  the  soldier  Holland ?"  I  asked. 

He  admitted  that  he  was  with  prompt  profanity, 
adding  that  if  we  didn't  like  his  name  we  had  only  to 
tell  him  so  and  he  would  arrange  the  matter. 

I  told  him  that  we  approved  not  only  his  name  but 
his  personal  appearance ;  indeed,  so  great  was  our  ad- 
miration for  him  that  we  had  come  clear  across  the 
Saint -Yssel  moor  expressly  to  pay  our  compliments 
to  him  in  the  shape  of  a  hundred-franc  note.  I  drew 
it  from  the  soiled  roll  the  Lizard  had  intrusted  to  me, 
and  displayed  it  for  the  sentinel's  inspection. 

"Is  that  for  me?"  he  demanded,  unconvinced,  plain- 
ly suspicious  of  being  ridiculed. 

"  Under  certain  conditions,"  I  said,  "  these  five  louis 
are  for  you." 

The  soldier  winked.  "I  know  what  you  want;  you 
want  to  go  in  yonder  and  use  the  telegraph.  What 
the  devil,"  he  burst  out,  "do  all  you  bourgeois  want 
with  that  telegraph  in  there?" 

"Has  anybody  else  asked  to  use  it?"  I  inquired, 
disturbed. 

"Anybody  else?"  he  mimicked.  "Well,  I  think  so ; 
there's  somebody  in  there  now — here,  give  your  hun- 
dred francs  or  I  tell  you  nothing,  you  understand!" 

I  handed  him  the  soiled  note.  He  scanned  it  with 
the  inborn  distrust  of  the  true  malefactor,  turned  it 
over  and  over,  and  finally,  pronouncing  it  "  en  regie," 
shoved  It  cheerfully  into  the  lining  of  his  red  forage- 
cap. 

340 


"  A  hundred  more  if  you  answer  my  questions  truth- 
fully," I  said,  amiably. 

'  'Cr6  cochon!"  he  blurted  out;  "fire  at  will,  com- 
rade! I'll  sell  you  the  whole  cursed  semaphore  for  a 
hundred  more!  What  can  I  do  for  you,  captain?" 

"Who  is  in  that  hut?" 

"A  lady — she  comes  often — she  gives  ten  francs 
each  time.  Zut! — what  is  ten  francs  when  a  gentle- 
man gives  a  hundred !  She  pays  me  for  my  complai- 
sance— bon!  Place  aux  dames!  You  pay  me  better — 
bon!  I'm  yours,  gentlemen.  War  is  war,  but  money 
pulls  the  trigger!" 

The  miserable  creature  cocked  his  forage-cap  with  a 
toothless  smirk  and  twisted  his  scant  mustache. 

"  Who  is  this  lady  who  pays  you  ten  francs?"  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know  her  name — but,"  he  added,  with  an 
offensive  leer,  "  she's  worth  looking  over  by  gentlemen 
like  you.  Do  you  want  to  see  her?  She's  in  there 
click-clicking  away  on  the  key  with  her  pretty  little 
fingers — bon  sang!  A  morsel  for  a  king,  gentlemen." 

"Wait  here,"  I  said,  disgusted,  and  walked  toward 
the  stone  station.  The  treacherous  cur  came  running 
after  me.  "There's  a  side  door,"  he  whispered;  "step 
in  there  behind  the  partition  and  take  a  look  at  her. 
She'll  be  done  directly:  she  never  stays  more  than 
fifteen  minutes.  Then  you  can  use  the  telegraph  at 
your  pleasure,  captain." 

The  side  door  was  partly  open ;  I  stepped  in  noise- 
lessly and  found  myself  in  a  small,  dusky  closet,  par- 
titioned from  the  telegraph  office.  Immediately  the 
rapid  clicking  of  the  Morse  instrument  came  to  my 
ears,  and  mechanically  I  read  the  message  by  the 
sound  as  it  rattled  on  under  the  fingers  of  an  expert : 

" — Must  have  already  found  out  that  the  signals 
were  not  authorized  by  the  government.  Before  the 
Fer-de-Lance  returns  to  her  station  the  German  cruiser 

341 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

ought  to  intercept  her  off  Groix.     Did  you  arrange  for 
this?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  back  came  rat- 
tling the  reply  in  the  Morse  code,  but  in  German : 

"  Yes,  all  is  arranged.  The  Augusta  took  a  French 
merchant  vessel  off  Pont  Aven  yesterday.  The  Au- 
gusta ought  to  pass  Groix  this  evening.  You  are  to 
burn  three  white  lights  from  Point  Paradise  if  a  land- 
ing-party is  needed.  It  rests  with  you  entirely." 

Another  silence,  then  the  operator  in  the  next  room 
began: 

"  You  say  that  Lorient  is  alarmed  by  rumors  of  Uh- 
lans, and  therefore  sends  the  treasure-train  back  to  Brest. 
The  train,  you  assure  me,  carries  the  diamonds  of  the 
crown,  bar-silver,  gold,  the  Venus  of  Milo,  and  ten  battle- 
flags  from  the  In  valides.  Am  I  correct?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  insurgents  here,  under  an  individual  in  our  pay, 
one  John  Buckhurst,  are  preparing  to  wreck  the  train 
at  the  Lammerin  trestle. 

"  If  the  Augusta  can  reach  Point  Paradise  to-night, 
a  landing-party  could  easily  scatter  these  insurgents, 
seize  the  treasures,  and  re-embark  in  safety. 

"  There  is,  you  declare,  nothing  to  fear  from  Lorient ; 
the  only  thing,  then,  to  be  dreaded  is  the  appearance 
of  the  Fer-de-Lance  off  Groix.  She  is  not  now  in  sight  ; 
I  will  notify  you  if  she  appears.  If  she  does  not  come 
I  will  burn  three  white  lights  in  triangle  on  Paradise 
headland." 

A  short  pause,  then : 

"Are  there  any  Prussian  cavalry  near  enough  to 
help  us?" 

And  the  answer: 

"  Prussian  dragoons  are  scouting  toward  Bannalec. 
I  will  send  a  messenger  to  them  if  I  can.  This  is  all. 
Be  careful.  Good-bye." 

342 


THE    SEMAPHORE 

"Good-bye,"  clicked  the  instrument  in  the  next 
room.  There  was  a  rustle  of  skirts,  a  tap  of  small 
shoes  on  the  stone  floor.  I  leaned  forward  and  looked 
through  the  little  partition  window ;  Sylvia  Elven  stood 
by  the  table,  quietly  drawing  on  her  gloves.  Her  face 
was  flushed  and  thoughtful. 

Slowly  she  walked  toward  the  door,  hesitated,  turn- 
ed, hurried  back  to  the  instrument,  and  set  the  switch. 
Then,  without  seating  herself,  she  leaned  over  and  gave 
the  station  call,  three  S's. 

" I  forgot  to  say  that  the  two  Yankee  officers  of  mili- 
tary police,  Scarlett  and  Speed,  are  a  harmless  pair. 
You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  them.  Good-bye." 

And  the  reply : 

"Watch  them  all  the  same.  Be  careful,  madame, 
they  are  Yankees.  Good-bye." 

When  she  had  gone,  closing  the  outer  door  behind 
her,  I  sprang  to  the  key,  switched  on,  rattled  out  the 
three  S's  and  got  my  man,  probably  before  he  had 
taken  three  steps  from  his  table. 

"  I  forgot  to  say,"  I  telegraphed,  using  a  light,  rapid 
touch  to  imitate  Sylvia's — "I  forgot  to  say  that,  in 
case  the  treasure-train  is  held  back  to-night,  the  Au- 
gusta must  run  for  the  English  Channel." 

"  What's  that?"  came  back  the  jerky  reply. 

I  repeated. 

"Donnerwetter!"  rattled  the  wires.  "The  entire 
French  iron-clad  fleet  is  looking  for  her." 

"And  I  hope  they  catch  her,"  I  telegraphed. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  came  the  frantic  reply.  "Who 
are  you?" 

"A  Yankee,  idiot!"  I  replied.  "Run  for  your  life, 
you  hopeless  ass!" 

There  was,  of  course,  no  reply,  though  I  sent  a  few 
jocular  remarks  flying  after  what  must  have  been  the 
most  horrified  German  spy  south  of  Metz. 

343 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Then,  at  a  venture,  I  set  the  switch  on  the  arsenal 
line,  got  a  quick  reply,  and  succeeded  in  alarming 
them  sufficiently,  I  think,  for  in  a  few  moments  I  was 
telegraphing  directly  to  the  governor  of  Lorient,  and 
the  wires  grew  hot  with  an  interchange  of  observa- 
tions, which  resulted  in  my  running  to  the  locker, 
tumbling  out  all  the  signal  bunting,  cones,  and  balls, 
sorting  five  flags,  two  red  cones,  and  a  ball,  and  has- 
tening out  to  the  semaphore. 

Speed  and  the  soldier  Holland  saw  me  set  the  cones, 
hoist  away,  break  out  the  flags  on  the  halyards,  and 
finally  drop  the  white  arm  of  the  semaphore. 

I  had  set  the  signal  for  the  Fer-de-Lance  to  land  in 
force  and  wipe  Buckhurst  and  his  grotesque  crew  from 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

" Holland, "  I  said,  "here  is  another  hundred  francs. 
Watch  that  halyard  and  guard  it.  To-night  you  will 
string  seven  of  those  little  lamps  on  this  other  halyard, 
light  them,  hoist  them,  and  then  go  up  that  tower  and 
light  the  three  red  lamps  on  the  left." 

"  'Tendu,"  he  said,  promptly. 

"If  you  do  it  I  will  give  you  two  hundred  francs 
to-morrow.  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

The  soldier  broke  out  into  a  torrent  of  promises  which 
I  cut  short. 

"  That  lady  will  never  come  here  again,  I  think.  If 
she  does,  she  must  not  touch  those  halyards.  Do 
you  hear?  If  she  offers  you  money,  remember  I  will 
double  it.  But,  Rolland,  if  you  lie  to  me  I  will  have 
you  killed  as  the  Bretons  kill  pigs;  you  understand 
how  that  is  done?" 

He  said  that  he  understood,  and  followed  us,  fawn- 
ing and  whining  his  cowardly  promises  of  fidelity 
until  we  ordered  the  wretch  back  to  the  post  which  he 
had  already  twice  betrayed,  and  would  certainly  be- 
tray again  if  the  opportunity  offered. 

344 


THE    SEMAPHORE 

Walking  fast  over  the  springy  heath,  I  told  Speed 
briefly  what  I  had  done — that  the  treasure-train  would 
not  now  leave  Lorient,  that  as  soon  as  the  Fer-de- 
Lance  came  in  sight  of  the  semaphore  Buckhurst's 
game  must  come  to  an  end. 

Far  ahead  of  us  we  saw  the  flutter  of  a  light  dress  on 
the  moor;  Sylvia  Elven,  the  spy,  was  going  home; 
and  from  the  distance,  across  the  yellow  -  flowered 
gorse,  her  gay  song  floated  back  to  us : 

*'  Those  who  die  for  a  maid 

Are  paid; 
Those  who  die  for  a  creed 

God-speed ; 

Those  who  die  for  their  own  dear  land 
Shall  stand  forever  on  God's  right  hand) — ** 

"A  spy!"  muttered  Speed. 

"I  think,"  said  I,  "that  she  had  better  leave  Para- 
dise at  once.  Oh,  the  little  fool,  to  risk  all  for  a  caprice 
— for  a  word  to  the  poor  fellow  she  ruined!  Vanity 
does  it  every  time,  Speed." 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  he  said. 

"No,  and  I  can't  explain,"  I  replied,  thinking  of 
Kelly  Eyre.  "But  Sylvia  Elven  is  running  a  fearful 
risk  here.  Mornac  knows  her  record.  Buckhurst 
would  betray  her  in  a  moment  if  he  thought  it  might 
save  his  own  skin.  She  ought  to  leave  before  the 
Fer-de-Lance  sights  the  semaphore  and  reads  the  sig- 
nal to  land  in  force." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  tell  her,"  he  said,  gloomily. 

"I  suppose  so,"  I  replied,  not  at  all  pleased.  For 
the  prospect  of  humiliating  her,  of  proving  to  this 
woman  that  I  was  not  as  stupid  as  she  believed  me,  gave 
me  no  pleasure.  Rather  was  I  sorry  for  her,  sorry 
for  the  truly  pitiable  condition  in  which  she  must  now 
find  herself. 

345 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

As  we  reached  the  gates  of  Tr6court,  dusty  and 
tired  from  our  moorland  tramp,  I  turned  and  looked 
back.  My  signal  was  still  set;  the  white  arm  of 
the  semaphore  glistened  like  silver  against  a  brilliant 
sky  of  sapphire.  Seaward  I  could  see  no  sign  of  the 
Fer-de-Lance. 

"  The  guns  I  heard  at  sea  must  have  been  fired  from 
the  German  cruiser  Augusta,"  I  suggested  to  Speed. 
"  She's  been  hovering  off  the  coast,  catching  French 
merchant  craft.  I  wish  to  goodness  the  Fer-de-Lance 
would  come  in  and  give  her  a  drubbing." 

"Oh,  rubbish!"  he  said.  "What  the  deuce  do  we 
care?" 

"It's  human  to  take  sides  in  this  war,  isn't  it?"  I 
insisted. 

"  Considering  the  fashion  in  which  France  has  treated 
us  individually,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  may  as  well 
take  the  German  side,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  going  to?"  I  asked. 

He  hesitated.  "  Oh,  hang  it  all,  no  1  There's  some- 
thing about  France  that  holds  us  poor  devils — I  don't 
know  what.  Barring  England,  she's  the  only  human 
nation  in  the  whole  snarling  pack.  Here's  to  her — 
damn  her  impudence!  If  she  wants  me  she  can  have 
me — empire,  kingdom,  or  republic.  Vive  anything — 
as  long  as  it's  French!" 

I  was  laughing  when  we  entered  the  court;  Jacque- 
line, her  big,  furry  cat  in  her  arms,  came  to  the  door 
and  greeted  Speed  with : 

"You  have  been  away  a  very  long  time,  and  the 
thorns  are  all  out  of  my  arms  and  my  legs,  and  I  have 
been  desiring  to  see  you.  Come  into  the  house  and 
read — shall  we?" 

Speed  turned  to  me  with  an  explanatory  smile.  "  I've 
been  reading  the  '  Idyls '  aloud  to  her  in  English,"  he 
said,  rather  shyly.  "  She  seems  to  like  them ;  it's  the 

346 


THE    SEMAPHORE 

noble  music  that  attracts  her;  she  can't  understand 
ten  words." 

"I  can  understand  nearly  twenty,"  she  said,  flush- 
ing painfully. 

Speed,  who  had  no  thought  of  hurting  her,  colored 
up,  too. 

"You  don't  comprehend,  little  one,"  he  said, quickly. 
"It  was  in  praise,  not  in  blame,  that  I  spoke." 

"  I  knew  it — I  am  silly,"  she  said,  with  quick  tears 
trembling  in  her  eyes.  "  You  know  I  adore  you,  Speed. 
Forgive  me." 

She  turned  away  into  the  house,  saying  that  she 
would  get  the  book. 

"Look  here,  Speed,"  I  said,  troubled,  "Jacqueline 
is  very  much  like  the  traditional  maid  of  romance, 
which  I  never  believed  existed — all  unspoiled,  frankly 
human,  innocently  daring,  utterly  ignorant  of  con- 
vention. She's  only  a  child  now,  but  another  year  or 
two  will  bnng  something  else  to  her." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I've  thought  of  that?"  he  said, 
frowning. 

"I  hope  you  have." 

"Well,  I  have.  When  I  find  enough  to  do  to  keep 
soul  and  body  friendly  I'm  going  to  send  her  to  school, 
if  that  old  ruffian,  her  father,  allows  it." 

"I  think  he  will,"  I  said,  gravely;  "but  after  that?" 

"After  what?" 

"After  she's  educated  and — unhappy?" 

"She  isn't  any  too  happy  now,"  he  retorted. 

"  Granted.  But  after  you  have  spent  all  your  money 
on  her,  what  then?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  you'll  have  no  child  to  deal  with,  but 
a  woman  in  full  bloom,  a  woman  fairly  aquiver  with 
life  and  intelligence,  a  high-strung,  sensitive,  fine- 
grained creature,  whose  educated  ignorance  will  not 

,347 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

be  educated  innocence,  remember  thatl  And  I  tell 
you,  Speed,  it's  the  heaviest  responsibility  a  man  can 
assume." 

"I  know  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  it's  all  right,  if  you  do  know  it,"  I  said,  cheer- 
fully. "All  I  can  say  is,  I  am  thankful  she  isn't  to 
spend  her  life  in  the  circus." 

"Or  meet  death  there,"  he  added.  "It's  not  to  our 
credit  that  she  escapes  it." 

Jacqueline  came  dancing  back  to  the  porch,  cat 
under  one  arm,  book  under  the  other,  so  frankly  happy, 
so  charmingly  grateful  for  Speed's  society,  that  the 
tragedy  of  the  lonely  child  touched  me  very  deeply. 
I  strove  to  discover  any  trace  of  the  bar  sinister  in  her, 
but  could  not,  though  now  I  understood,  from  her  par- 
entage, how  it  was  possible  for  a  poacher's  child  to 
have  such  finely  sculptured  hands  and  feet.  Perhaps 
her  dark,  silky  lashes  and  hair  were  Mornac's,  but  if  this 
was  so,  I  trusted  that  there  the  aristocratic  blood  had 
spent  its  force  in  the  frail  body  of  this  child  of  chance. 

I  went  into  the  house,  leaving  them  seated  on  the 
porch,  heads  together,  while  in  a  low  monotone  Speed 
read  the  deathless  "  Morte  d' Arthur." 

Daylight  was  waning. 

Out  of  the  west  a  clear,  greenish  sky,  tinged  with 
saffron  tints,  promised  a  sea-wind.  But  the  mild  land- 
breeze  was  still  blowing  and  the  ebb-tide  flowing  as  I 
entered  the  corridor  and  glanced  at  the  corner  where 
the  spinning-wheel  stood.  Sylvia  sat  beside  it,  read- 
ing in  the  Lutheran  Bible  by  the  failing  light. 

She  raised  her  dreamy  eyes  as  I  passed ;  I  had  never 
seen  her  piquantly  expressive  face  so  grave. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  alone  a  moment,  after  dinner?" 
I  asked. 

"If  you  wish,"  she  replied. 

I  bowed  and  started  on,  but  she  called  me  back. 
348 


THE    SEMAPHORE 

"Did  you  know  that  Monsieur  Eyre  is  here?" 

"Kelly  Eyre?" 

"Oui,  monsieur.  He  returns  with  an  order  from 
the  governor  of  Lorient  for  the  balloon." 

I  was  astonished,  and  asked  where  Eyre  had  gone. 

"He  is  in  your  room,"  she  said,  "loading  your  re- 
volver. I  hope  you  will  not  permit  him  to  go  alone  to 
Paradise." 

"  I'll  see  about  that,"  I  muttered,  and  hurried  up  the 
stairs  and  down  the  hallway  to  my  bedchamber. 

He  sprang  to  the  door  as  I  entered,  giving  me  both 
hands  in  boyish  greeting,  saying  how  delighted  they 
all  were  to  know  that  my  injury  had  proved  so 
slight. 

"That  balloon  robbery  worried  me,"  he  continued. 
"  I  knew  that  Speed  depended  on  his  balloon  for  a  liv- 
ing ;  so  as  soon  as  we  entered  Lorient  I  went  to  our  con- 
sul, and  he  and  I  made  such  a  row  that  the  governor  of 
Lorient  gave  me  an  order  for  the  balloon.  Here  it  is, 
Mr.  Scarlett." 

His  heightened  color  and  excitement,  his  nervous 
impetuosity,  were  not  characteristic  of  this  quiet  and 
rather  indifferent  young  countryman  of  mine. 

I  looked  at  him  keenly  but  pleasantly. 

"  You  are  going  to  load  my  revolver,  and  go  over  to 
Paradise  and  take  that  balloon  from  these  bandits?" 
I  asked,  smiling. 

"  An  order  is  all  right,  but  it  is  the  more  formal  when 
backed  by  a  bullet,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  were  preparing  to 
go  over  into  that  hornet's  nest  alone?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  reckless  laugh. 

"Give  me  my  revolver/'  I  said,  coldly. 

His  face  fell.  "Let  me  take  it,  Mr.  Scarlett,"  he 
pleaded;  but  I  refused,  and  made  him  hand  me  the 
weapon. 

349 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"Now/'  I  said,  sternly,  "I  want  to  know  what  the 
devil  you  mean  by  attempting  suicide?  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  those  ruffians  care  a  straw  for  you  and  your 
order?  Kelly,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  Is  life 
as  unattractive  as  all  that?" 

His  flushed  and  sullen  face  darkened. 

"If  you  want  to  risk  your  life,"  I  said,  "you  have 
plenty  of  chances  in  your  profession.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  an  aged  aeronaut?  Kelly,  go  back  to  America 
and  break  your  neck  like  a  gentleman." 

He  darted  a  menacing  glance  at  me,  but  there  was 
nothing  of  irony  in  my  sober  visage. 

"You  appear  here,"  I  said,  "after  the  others  have 
sailed  from  Lorient.  Why?  To  do  Speed  this  gen- 
erous favor?  Yes  —  and  to  do  yourself  the  pleasure 
of  ending  an  embittered  life  under  the  eyes  of  the 
woman  who  ruined  you." 

The  boy  flinched  as  though  I  had  struck  him  in  the 
face.  For  a  moment  I  expected  a  blow;  his  hands 
clinched  conrulsively,  and  he  focussed  me  with  blaz- 
ing eyes. 

"Don't,"  I  said,  quietly.  "I  am  trying  to  be  your 
friend;  I  am  trying  to  save  you  from  yourself,  Kelly. 
Don't  throw  away  your  life — as  I  have  done.  Life  is 
a  good  thing,  Kelly,  a  good  thing.  Can  we  not  be 
friends  though  I  tell  you  the  truth?" 

The  color  throbbed  and  throbbed  in  his  face.  There 
was  a  chair  near  him;  he  groped  for  it,  and  sat  down 
heavily. 

"Life  is  a  good  thing,"  I  said  again,  "but,  Kelly, 
truth  is  better.  And  I  must  tell  you  the — well,  some- 
thing of  the  truth — as  much  as  you  need  know  .  .  . 
now.  My  friend,  she  is  not  worth  it." 

"Do  you  think  that  makes  any  difference?"  he  said, 
harshly.  "Let  me  alone,  Scarlett.  I  knowl  ...  7 
know,  I  tell  you!" 

350 


THE    SEMAPHORE 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  know  she  deliber- 
ately betrayed  you?"  I  demanded. 

"Yes,  I  know  it— I  tell  you  I  know  it!" 

"And  .  .  .  you  love  her?" 

"  Yes."  He  dropped  his  haggard  face  on  his  arms  a 
moment,  then  sat  bolt  upright.  "  Truth  is  better  than 
life,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  I  lied  to  you  and  to  myself 
when  I  came  back.  I  did  come  to  get  Speed's  balloon, 
but  I  came  .  .  .  for  her  sake,  ...  to  be  near  her,  .  .  . 
to  see  her  once  more  before  I — " 

"Yes,  I  understand,  Kelly." 

He  winced  and  leaned  wearily  back. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said ;  "  I  wanted  to  end  it,  ... 
I  am  tired." 

I  sat  thinking  for  a  moment ;  the  light  in  the  room 
faded  to  a  glimmer  on  the  panes. 

"  Kelly,"  I  said,  "  there  remains  another  way  to  risk 
your  neck,  and,  I  think,  a  nobler  way.  There  is  in 
this  house  a  woman  who  is  running  a  terrible  risk — a 
German  spy  whose  operations  have  been  discovered. 
This  woman  believes  that  she  has  in  her  pay  the  com- 
munist leader  of  the  revolt,  a  man  called  Buckhurst. 
She  is  in  error.  And  she  must  leave  this  house  to- 
night." 

Eyre's  face  had  paled.  He  bent  forward,  clasped 
hands  between  his  knees,  eyes  fastened  on  me. 

"  There  will  be  trouble  here  to-night — or,  in  all  prob- 
ability, within  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  I  expect 
to  see  Buckhurst  a  prisoner.  And  when  that  happens 
it  will  go  hard  with  Mademoiselle  Elven,  for  he  will 
turn  on  her  to  save  himself.  .  .  .  And  you  know  what 
that  means;  ...  a  blank  wall,  Kelly,  and  a  firing-squad. 
There  is  but  one  sex  for  spies." 

A  deadly  fear  was  stamped  on  his  bloodless  face.  I 
saw  it,  tense  and  quivering,  in  the  gray  light  of  the 
window. 

351 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"She  must  leave  tonight,  Kelly.  She  must  try  to 
cross  into  Spain.  Will  you  help  her?" 

He  nodded,  striving  to  say  "yes." 

"You  know  your  own  risk?" 

"Yes." 

"Her  company  is  death  for  you  both  if  you  are 
taken." 

He  stood  up  very  straight.  In  what  strange  forms 
comes  happiness  to  man! 


XXI 

LIKE  HER  ANCESTORS 

A  SENSE  of  insecurity,  of  impending  trouble,  seem- 
/~\ed  to  weigh  upon  us  all  that  evening — a  physical 
depression,  which  the  sea-wind  brought  with  its  flying 
scud,  wetting  the  window-panes  like  fine  rain. 

At  intervals  from  across  the  moors  came  the  dead- 
ened rolling  of  insurgent  drums,  and  in  the  sky  a 
ruddy  reflection  of  a  fire  brightened  and  waned  as  the 
fog  thickened  or  blew  inland — an  ominous  sign  of  dis- 
order, possibly  even  a  reflection  from  that  unseen  war 
raging  somewhere  beyond  the  obscured  horizon. 

It  may  have  been  this  indefinable  foreboding  that 
drew  our  little  company  into  a  temporary  intimacy; 
it  may  have  been  the  immense  loneliness  of  the  sea, 
thundering  in  thickening  darkness,  that  stilled  our 
voices  to  whispers. 

Eyre,  ill  at  ease,  walked  from  window  to  window, 
looking  at  the  luminous  tints  on  the  ragged  edges  of 
the  clouds;  Sylvia,  over  her  heavy  embroidery,  lifted 
her  head  gravely  at  moments,  to  glance  after  him  when 
he  halted  listless,  preoccupied,  staring  at  Speed  and 
Jacqueline,  who  were  drawing  pictures  of  Arthur  and 
his  knights  by  the  lamp-lit  table. 

I  leaned  in  the  embrasure  of  the  southern  window, 

gazing  at  my  lighted  lanterns,  which  dangled  from  the 

halyards  at  Saint -Yssel.     The  soldier  Rolland  had  so 

far  kept  his  word — three  red  lamps  glimmered  through 

13  353 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

a  driving  mist;  the  white  lanterns  hung  above,  faintly 
shining. 

Full  in  the  firelight  of  the  room  sat  the  young  Count- 
ess, lost  in  reverie,  hands  clasping  the  gilt  arms  of  her 
chair.  At  her  feet  dozed  Ange  Pitou. 

The  dignity  of  a  parvenu  cat  admitted  for  the  first 
time  to  unknown  luxurj^  is  a  lesson.  I  said  this  to 
the  young  Countess,  who  smiled  dreamily,  watching 
the  play  of  color  over  the  dnit-wood  fire.  A  ship's 
plank  was  burning  there,  tufted  with  golden -green 
flames.  Presently  a  blaze  of  purest  carmine  threw  a 
deeper  light  into  the  room. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "what  people  sailed  in  that 
ship — and  when?  Did  they  perish  on  this  coast  when 
their  ship  perished?  A  drift-wood  fire  is  beautiful, 
but  a  little  sad,  too."  She  looked  up  pensively  over 
her  shoulder.  "  Will  you  bring  a  chair  to  the  fire?"  she 
asked.  "  We  are  burning  part  of  a  great  ship — for 
our  pleasure,  monsieur.  Tell  me  what  ship  it  was; 
tell  me  a  story  to  amuse  me — not  a  melancholy  one, 
if  you  please." 

I  drew  a  chair  to  the  blaze;  the  drift-wood  burned 
gold  and  violet,  with  scarcely  a  whisper  of  its  velvet 
flames. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  story  is  not  going  to  be  very  cheer- 
ful," I  said,  "and  I  am  also  afraid  that  I  must  ask  you 
to  listen  to  it." 

She  met  my  eyes  with  composure,  leaned  a  little 
toward  me,  and  waited. 

And  so,  sitting  there  in  the  tinted  glare,  I  told  hei 
of  the  death  of  Delmont  and  of  Ta vernier,  and  of  Buck- 
hurst's  share  in  the  miserable  work. 

I  spoke  in  a  whisper  scarcely  louder  than  the  rustle 
of  the  flames,  watching  the  horror  growing  in  her 
face. 

I  told  her  that  the  money  she  had  intrusted  to  them 
354 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

for  the  Red  Cross  was  in  my  possession,  and  would  be 
forwarded  at  the  first  chance;  that  I  hoped  to  bring 
Buckhurst  to  justice  that  very  night. 

"Madame,  I  am  paining  you,"  I  said;  "but  I  am 
going  to  cause  you  even  greater  unhappiness." 

"Tell  me  what  is  necessary,"  she  said,  forming  the 
words  with  tightened  lips. 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you  that  it  is  necessary  for  Mad- 
emoiselle Elven  to  leave  Tr6court  to-night." 

She  looked  at  me  as  though  she  had  not  heard. 

"  It  is  absolutely  necessary,"  I  repeated.  "  She  must 
go  secretly.  She  must  leave  her  effects;  she  must  go 
in  peasant's  dress,  on  foot. " 

"Why?" 

"It  is  better  that  I  do  not  tell  you,  madame." 

"Tell  me.     It  is  my  right  to  know." 

"Not  now;  later,  if  you  insist." 
'(The  young  Countess  passed  one  hand  over  her  eyes 
as  though  dazed. 

"  Does  Sylvia  know  this?"  she  asked,  in  a  shocked 
voice. 

"Not  yet." 

"And  you  are  going  to  tell  her?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"This  is  dreadful,"  she  muttered.  ...  "If  I  did 
not  know  you,  ...  if  I  did  not  trust  you  so  perfect- 
ly, ...  trust  you  with  all  my  heart!  .  .  .  Oh,  are 
you  certain  she  must  go?  It  frightens  me;  it  is  so 
strange!  I  have  grown  fond  of  her.  .  .  .  And  now 
you  say  that  she  must  go.  I  cannot  understand — I 
cannot." 

"  No,  you  cannot  understand/'  I  repeated,  gently ; 
"  but  she  can.  It  is  a  serious  matter  for  Mademoiselle 
Elven;  it  could  not  easily  be  more  serious.  It  is  even 
perhaps  a  question  of  life  or  death,  madame." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  help  her,  then!"  she  said,  scarce- 
355 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

ly  controlling  the  alarm  that  brought  a  pitiful  break  in 
her  voice. 

"  I  am  trying  to,"  I  said.  "  And  now  I  must  consult 
Mademoiselle  Elven.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked,  piteously. 

"Stand  by  that  window.  Look,  madame,  can  you 
see  the  lights  on  the  semaphore?" 

"Yes." 

"Count  them  aloud." 

She  counted  the  white  lights  for  me,  then  the  red 
ones. 

"Now,"  I  said,  "if  those  lights  change  in  number 
or  color  or  position,  come  instantly  to  me.  I  shall 
be  with  Mademoiselle  Elven  in  the  little  tea-room. 
But,"  I  added,  "I  do  not  expect  any  change  in  the 
lights;  it  is  only  a  precaution." 

I  left  her  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtains,  and  passed 
through  the  room  to  Sylvia's  side.  She  looked  up 
quietly  from  her  embroidery  frame,  then,  dropping 
the  tinted  silks  and  needles  on  the  cloth,  rose  and  walked 
beside  me  past  Eyre,  who  stood  up  as  we  came  abreast 
of  him. 

Sylvia  paused.  "Monsieur  Eyre,"  she  said,  "I 
have  a  question  to  ask  you  .  .  .  some  day/:  and 
passed  on  with  a  smile  and  a  slight  inclination  of  her 
head,  leaving  Eyre  looking  after  her  with  heavy  eyes. 

When  we  entered  the  little  tea-room  she  passed  on 
to  the  lounge  and  seated  herself  on  the  padded  arm; 
I  turned,  closed  the  door,  and  walked  straight  toward 
her. 

She  glanced  up  at  me  curiously;  something  in  my 
face  appeared  to  sober  her,  for  the  amused  smile  on  her 
lips  faded  before  I  spoke. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,"  I  said — "sorry  from  my 
heart.  You  are  not  very  friendly  to  me,  and  that 

356 


LIKE    HER   ANCESTORS 

makes   it   harder  for   me    to    say   what    I   have    to 
say." 

She  was  watching  me  intently  out  of  her  pretty,  in- 
telligent eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  guardedly. 

"I  mean  that  you  cannot  stay  here,"  I  said.  "And 
you  know  why." 

The  color  flooded  her  face,  and  she  stood  up,  con- 
fronting me,  exasperated,  detiant. 

"Will  you  explain  this  insult?"  she  asked,  hotly. 

"Yes.  You  are  a  German  spy,"  1  said,  under  my 
breath. 

There  was  no  color  in  her  face  now — nothing  but 
a  glitter  in  her  blue  eyes  and  a  glint  from  the  small, 
white  teeth  biting  her  lower  lip. 

"  French  troops  will  land  here  to-night  or  to-morrow," 
I  went  on,  calmly.  "  You  will  see  how  dangerous  your 
situation  is  certain  to  become  when  Buckhurst  is  taken, 
and  when  it  is  understood  what  use  you  have  made  of 
the  semaphore." 

She  winced,  then  straightened  and  bent  her  steady 
gaze  on  me.  Her  courage  was  admirable. 

"  I  thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said,  simply.  "  Have 
I  a  chance  to  reach  the  Spanish  frontier?" 

"  I  think  you  have,"  I  replied.  "  Kelly  Eyre  is  going 
with  you  when — " 

"He?  No,  no,  he  must  not!  Does  he  know  what  I 
am?"  she  broke  in,  impetuously. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle;  and  he  knows  what  happens 
to  spies." 

"Did  he  offer  to  go?"  she  asked,  incredulously. 

"Mademoiselle,  he  insists." 

Her  lip  began  to  tremble.  She  turned  toward  the 
window,  where  the  sea-fog  flew  past  in  the  rising  wind, 
and  stared  out  across  the  immeasurable  blackness  of 
the  ocean. 

357 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

Without  turning  her  head  she  said :  "  Does  he  know- 
that  it  may  mean  his  death?" 

"He  has  suffered  worse  for  your  sakel"  I  said,  bit- 
terly. 

"What?"  she  flashed  out,  confronting  me  in  an 
instant. 

"You  must  know  that/'  I  said — "three  years  of 
hell — prison — utter  ruin !  Do  you  dare  deny  you  have 
been  ignorant  of  this?" 

For  a  space  she  stood  there,  struck  speechless ;  then, 
"Call  him!"  she  cried.  " Call  him,  I  tell  you!  Bring 
him  here — I  want  him  here — here  before  us  both!" 
She  sprang  to  the  door,  but  I  blocked  her  way. 

"  I  will  not  have  Madame  de  Vassart  know  what  you 
did  to  himl"  I  said.  "If  you  want  Kelly  Eyre,  I  will 
call  him."  And  I  stepped  into  the  hallway. 

Eyre,  passing  the  long  stone  corridor,  looked  up  as 
I  beckoned ;  and  when  he  entered  the  tea-room,  Sylvia, 
white  as  a  ghost,  met  him  face  to  face. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  harshly,  "why  did  you  not 
come  to  that  book-store?" 

He  was  silent.  His  face  was  answer  enough — a  ter- 
rible answer. 

"Monsieur  Eyre,  speak  to  me!  Is  it  true?  Did 
they — did  you  not  know  that  I  made  an  error — that  I 
did  go  on  Monday  at  the  same  hour?" 

His  haggard  face  lighted  up ;  she  saw  it,  and  caught 
his  hands  in  hers. 

"  Did  you  think  I  knew?"  she  stammered.  "  Did  you 
think  I  could  do  that?  They  told  me  at  the  usine 
that  you  had  gone  away — I  thought  you  had  forgotten 
— that  you  did  not  care — " 

"Care!"  he  groaned,  and  bowed  his  head,  crushing 
her  hands  over  his  face. 

Then  she  broke  down,  breathless  with  terror  and 
grief. 

358 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"I  was  not  a  spy  then  —  truly  I  was  not,  Kelly. 
There  was  no  harm  in  me — I  only — only  asked  for  the 
sketches  because — because — I  cared  for  you.  I  have 
them  now;  no  soul  save  myself  has  ever  seen  them — 
even  afterward,  when  I  drifted  into  intrigue  at  the 
Embassy — when  everybody  knew  that  Bismarck  meant 
to  force  war — everybody  except  the  French  people — 
I  never  showed  those  little  sketches!  They  were — 
were  mine!  Kelly,  they  were  all  I  had  left  when  you 
went  away — to  a  fortress ! — and  I  did  not  know ! — I  did 
not  know!" 

"Hush!"  he  groaned.  "It  is  all  right  — it  is  all 
right  now." 

"Do  you  believe  me?" 

"Yes,  yes.     Don't  cry — don't  be  unhappy — now." 

She  raised  her  head  and  fumbled  in  her  corsage  with 
shaking  fingers,  and  drew  from  her  bosom  a  packet  of 
papers. 

"Here  are  the  sketches,"  she  sobbed;  "they  have 
cost  you  dear!  Now  leave  me — hate  me!  Let  them 
come  and  take  me — I  do  not  want  to  live  any  more. 
Oh,  what  punishment  on  earth!" 

Her  suffering  was  unendurable  to  the  man  who  had 
suffered  through  her;  he  turned  on  me,  quivering  in 
every  limb. 

"  We  must  start,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  Give  me  your 
revolver." 

I  drew  it  from  my  hip-pocket  and  passed  it  to  him. 

"Scarlett,"  he  began,  "if  we  don't  reach—" 

A  quick  rapping  at  the  door  silenced  him ;  the  young 
Countess  stood  in  the  hallway,  bright-eyed,  but  com- 
posed, asking  for  me. 

"The  red  and  the  white  lights  are  gone,"  she  said. 
"There  are  four  green  lights  on  the  tower  and  four 
blue  lights  on  the  halyards." 

I  turned  to  Eyre.     "This  is  interesting,"  I  said, 
359 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

grimly.  "  I  set  signals  for  the  Fer-de-Lance  to  land  in 
force.  Somebody  has  changed  them.  You  had  better 
get  ready  to  go." 

Sylvia  had  shrunk  away  from  Eyre.  The  Countess 
looked  at  her  blankly,  then  at  me. 

"Madame,"  I  said,  "there  is  little  enough  of  hap- 
piness in  the  world — so  little  that  when  it  comes  it 
should  be  welcomed,  even  by  those  who  may  not  share 
in  it." 

And  I  bent  nearer  and  whispered  the  truth. 

Then  I  went  to  Sylvia,  who  stood  there  tremulous, 
pallid. 

"You  serve  your  country  at  a  greater  risk  than  do 
the  soldiers  of  your  King,"  I  said.  "There  is  no  cour- 
age like  that  which  discounts  a  sordid,  unhonored 
death.  You  have  my  respect,  mademoiselle." 

"Sylvia!"  murmured  the  young  Countess,  incred- 
ulously; "you  a  spy? — here — under  my  roof?" 

Sylvia  unconsciously  stretched  out  one  hand  toward 
her. 

Eyre  stepped  to  her  side,  with  an  angry  glance  at 
Madame  de  Vassart. 

"I — I  love  you,  madame,"  whispered  Sylvia.  "I 
only  place  my  own  country  first.  Can  you  forgive 
me?" 

The  Countess  stood  as  though  stunned ;  Eyre  passed 
her  slowly,  supporting  Sylvia  to  the  door. 

"Madame,"  I  said,  "will  you  speak  to  her?  Your 
countries,  not  your  hearts,  are  at  war.  She  did  her 
duty." 

"A  spy!"  repeated  the  Countess,  in  a  dull  voice. 
"A  spy!  And  she  brings  this — this  shame  on  me!" 

Sylvia  turned,  standing  unsteadily.  For  a  long 
time  they  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  their  eyes 
wet  with  tears.  Theri  Eyre  lifted  Sylvia's  hand  and 
kissed  it,  and  led  her  away,  closing  the  door  behind. 

360 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

The  Countess  still  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
transfixed,  rigid,  staring  through  her  tears  at  the 
closed  door.  With  a  deep-drawn  breath  she  straight- 
ened her  shoulders ;  her  head  drooped ;  she  covered  her 
face  with  clasped  hands. 

Standing  there,  did  she  remember  those  who,  one 
by  one,  had  betrayed  her?  Those  who  first  whispered 
to  her  that  love  of  country  was  a  narrow  creed ;  those 
who  taught  her  to  abhor  violence,  and  then  failed  at 
the  test  —  Hazard,  firing  to  kill,  going  down  to  death 
under  the  merciless  lance  of  an  Uhlan;  Buckhurst, 
guilty  of  every  crime  that  attracted  him;  and  now 
Sylvia,  her  friend,  false  to  the  salt  she  had  eaten,  false 
to  the  roof  above  her,  false,  utterly  false  to  all  save 
the  land  of  jier  nativity. 

And  she,  Eline  de  Trecourt,  a  soldier's  daughter  and 
a  Frenchwoman,  had  been  used  as  a  shield  by  those  who 
were  striking  her  own  mother-land  —  the  country  she 
once  had  denied ;  the  country  whose  frontiers  she  knew 
not  in  her  zeal  for  limitless  brotherhood;  the  black- 
ened, wasted  country  she  had  seen  at  Strasbourg ;  the 
land  for  which  the  cuirassiers  of  Morsbronn  had  died ! 

"What  have  I  done?"  she  cried,  brokenly — "what 
have  I  done  that  this  shame  sliould  come  upon  me?" 

"  You  have  done  nothing,"  I  said,  "  neither  for  good 
nor  evil  in  this  crisis.  But  Sylvia  has;  Sylvia  the 
spy.  That  a  man  should  give  up  his  life  for  a  friend 
is  good;  that  a  woman  offer  hers  for  her  country  is 
better.  What  has  it  cost  her?  The  friendship  of  the 
woman  she  worships — you,  madame!  It  has  cost  her 
that  already,  and  the  price  may  include  her  life  and  the 
life  of  the  man  she  loves.  She  has  done  her  duty;  the 
sacrifice  is  still  burning ;  I  pray  it  may  spare  her  and 
spare  him." 

I  walked  to  the  door  and  laid  my  hand  on  the  brass 
knob. 

361 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

"The  world  is  merciless  to  failures,"  I  said.  "Yet 
even  a  successful  spy  is  scarcely  tolerated  among  the 
Philistines;  a  captured  spy  is  a  horror  for  friends  to 
forget  and  for  enemies  to  destroy  in  righteous  indig- 
nation. Madame,  I  know,  for  I  have  served  your 
country  in  Algiers  as  a  spy,  .  .  .  not  from  patriotism, 
for  I  am  an  alien,  but  because  I  was  fitted  for  it  in  my 
line  of  duty.  Had  I  been  caught  I  should  have  looked 
for  nothing  but  contempt  from  France ;  from  the  Ka- 
byle,  for  neither  admiration  nor  mercy.  I  tell  you 
this  that  you  may  understand  my  respect  for  this 
woman,  whose  motives  are  worthy  of  it." 

The  Countess  looked  at  me  scornfully.  "  It  is  well," 
she  said,  "for  those  who  understand  and  tolerate 
treachery  to  condone  it.  It  is  well  that  the  accused 
be  judged  by  their  peers.  We  of  Trecourt  know  only 
one  tongue.  But  that  is  the  language  of  truth,  mon- 
sieur. All  else  is  foreign." 

"Where  did  the  nobility  learn  this  tongue — to  out 
exclusion?"  I  asked,  bluntly. 

"When  our  forefathers  faced  the  tribunals!"  she 
flashed  out.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  spy  among  us? 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  lie  among  us?" 

"You  have  been  taught  history  by  your  peers, 
madame,"  I  said,  with  a  bow;  "I  have  been  taught 
history  by  mine." 

"The  sorry  romance!"  she  said,  bitterly.  "It  has 
brought  me  to  this!" 

"It  has  brought  others  to  their  senses,"  I  said, 
sharply. 

"To  their  knees,  you  mean!" 

"Yes — to  their  knees  at  last." 

"To  the  guillotine— yes!" 

"  No,  madame,  to  pray  for  their  native  land — too  late ! " 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  we  are  not  fitted  to  under- 
stand each  other." 

362 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"  It  remains/'  I  said,  "  for  me  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  to  us  all,  and  for  your  generosity  to  me  in 
my  time  of  need.  ...  It  is  quite  useless  for  me  to 
dream  of  repaying  it.  ...  I  shall  never  forget  it.  ... 
I  ask  leave  to  make  my  adieux,  raadame." 

She  flushed  to  her  temples,  but  did  not  answer. 

As  I  stood  looking  at  her,  a  vivid  flare  of  light  flashed 
through  the  window  behind  me,  crimsoning  the  walls, 
playing  over  the  ceiling  with  an  infernal  radiance. 
At  the  same  instant  the  gate  outside  crashed  open, 
a  hubbub  of  voices  swelled  into  a  roar;  then  the  outer 
doors  were  flung  back  and  a  score  of  men  sprang  into 
the  hallway,  soldiers  with  the  red  torch-light  dancing 
on  rifle-barrels  and  bayonets. 

And  before  them,  revolver  swinging  in  his  slender 
hand,  strode  Buckhurst,  a  red  sash  tied  across  his 
breast,  his  colorless  eyes  like  diamonds. 

Speed  and  Jacqueline  came  hurrying  through  the 
hall  to  where  I  stood ;  Buckhurst 's  smile  was  awful  as 
his  eyes  flashed  from  Speed  to  me. 

Behind  him,  close  to  his  shoulder,  the  torch-light  fell 
on  Mornac's  smooth,  false  face,  stretched  now  into  a 
ferocious  grimace;  behind  him  crowded  the  soldiers 
of  the  commune,  rifles  slung,  craning  their  unshaven 
faces  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  us. 

"  Demi  -  battalion,  halt!"  shouted  an  officer,  and 
flung  up  his  naked  sabre. 

"Halt,"  repeated  Buckhurst,  quietly. 

Madame  de  Vassart's  servants  had  come  running 
from  kitchen  and  stable  at  the  first  alarm,  and  now 
stood  huddled  in  the  court-yard,  bewildered,  cowed  by 
the  bayonets  which  had  checked  them. 

"  Buckhurst,"  I  said,  "  what  the  devil  do  you  mean 
by  this  foolery?"  and  I  started  for  him,  shouldering 
my  way  among  his  grotesque  escort. 

For  an  instant  I  looked  into  his  deadly  eyes ;  then  he 

363 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

silently  motioned  me  back;  a  dozen  bayonets  were 
levelled,  forcing  me  to  retire,  inch  by  inch,  until  I  felt 
Speed's  grip  on  my  arm. 

"That  fellow  means  mischief,"  he  whispered. 
"Have  you  a  pistol?" 

"I  gave  mine  to  Eyre,"  I  said,  under  my  breath. 
"  If  he  means  us  harm,  don't  resist  or  they  may  take 
revenge  on  the  Countess.  Speed,  keep  her  in  the  room 
there!  Don't  let  her  come  out." 

But  the  Countess  de  Vassart  was  already  in  the  hall, 
facing  Buckhurst  with  perfect  composure. 

Twice  she  ordered  him  to  leave;  he  looked  up  from 
his  whispered  consultation  with  Mornac  and  coolly  mo- 
tioned her  to  be  silent. 

Once  she  spoke  to  Mornac,  quietly  demanding  a 
reason  for  the  outrage,  and  Mornac  silenced  her  with  a 
brutal  gesture. 

"Madame,"  I  said,  "it  is  I  they  want.  1  beg  you 
to  retire." 

"  You  are  my  guest,"  she  said.     "My  place  is  here." 

"Your  place  is  where  I  please  to  put  you!"  broke 
in  Mornac;  and  to  Buckhurst:  "I  tell  you  she's  as 
guilty  as  the  others.  Let  me  attend  to  this  and  make 
a  clean  sweep!" 

"  Citizen  Mornac  will  endeavor  to  restrain  his  zeal," 
observed  Buckhurst,  with  a  sneer.  And  then,  as  I 
looked  at  this  slender,  pallid  man,  I  understood  who 
was  the  dominant  power  behind  the  curtain;  and  so 
did  Speed,  for  I  felt  him  press  my  elbow  significantly. 

He  turned  and  addressed  us,  suavely,  bowing  with  a 
horrid,  mock  deference  to  the  Countess : 

"In  the  name  of  the  commune!  The  ci-devant 
Countess  de  Vassart  is  accused  of  sheltering  the  indi- 
vidual Scarlett,  late  inspector  of  Imperial  Police;  the 
individual  Speed,  ex-inspector  of  Imperial  Gendarmes ; 
the  individual  Eyre,  under  general  suspicion;  the 

364 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

woman  called  Sylvia  Elven,  a  German  spy.    As  war- 
delegate  of  the  commune,  I  ain  here  to  accuse  1" 

There  was  a  silence,  then  a  low,  angry  murmur  from 
the  soldiers,  which  grew  louder  until  Buckhurst  turned 
on  them.  He  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  the  sullen  roar 
died  out,  a  bayonet  rattled,  then  all  was  still  in  the 
dancing  torchlight. 

"I  accuse,"  continued  Buckhurst,  in  a  passionless 
voice,  "  the  individual  Scarlett  of  treachery  to  the  com- 
mune; of  using  the  telegraph  for  treacherous  ends;  of 
hoisting  signals  with  the  purpose  of  attracting  govern- 
ment troops  to  destroy  us.  I  accuse  the  individual 
Speed  of  aiding  his  companion  in  using  the  telegraph 
to  stop  the  government  train,  thus  depriving  the  com- 
mune of  the  funds  which  rightfully  belong  to  it — the 
treasures  wrung  from  wretched  peasants  by  the  aristo- 
crats of  an  accursed  monarchy  and  a  thrice-accursed 
empire!" 

A  roaring  cheer  burst  from  the  excited  soldiers, 
drowning  the  voice  of  Buckhurst. 

"Silence!"  shouted  Mornac,  savagely.  And  as  the 
angry  voices  were  stilled,  one  by  one,  above  the  bang- 
ing of  rifle -stocks  and  the  rattle  of  bayonets,  Buck- 
hurst's  calm  voice  rose  in  a  sinister  monotone. 

"I  accuse  the  woman  SyWia  Elven  of  communica- 
tion with  Prussian  agents ;  of  attempted  corruption  of 
soldiers  under  my  command.  I  accuse  the  citoyenne 
Eline  Trecourt,  lately  known  as  the  Countess  de  Vas- 
sart,  of  aiding,  encouraging,  and  abetting  these  ene- 
mies of  France!" 

He  waited  until  the  short,  fierce  yell  of  approval  had 
died  away.  Then : 

"Call  the  soldier  Rolland!"  he  said. 

My  heart  began  to  hammer  in  my  throat.  "I  be- 
lieve it's  going  hard  with  us,"  I  muttered  to  Speed. 

"Listen/'  he  motioned. 

365 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

I  listened  to  the  wretched  creature  Holland  while  he 
told  what  had  happened  at  the  semaphore.  In  his 
eagerness  he  pushed  close  to  where  I  stood,  menacing 
me  with  every  gesture,  cursing  and  lashing  himself 
into  a  rage,  ignoring  all  pretence  of  respect  and  disci- 
pline for  his  own  superiors. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  he  shouted,  inso- 
lently, turning  on  Buckhurst.  ''I  tell  the  truth;  and 
if  this  man  can  afford  to  pay  hundreds  of  francs  for 
a  telegram,  he  must  be  rich  enough  to  pluck,  I  tell 
you!" 

"You  say  he  bribed  you?"  asked  Buckhurst,  gently. 

"Yes;  I've  said  it  twenty  times,  haven't  I?" 

"And  you  took  the  bribes?" 

"Parbleu!" 

"  And  you  thought  if  you  admitted  it  and  denounced 
the  man  who  bribed  you  that  you  would  help  divide  a 
few  millions  with  us,  you  rogue?"  suggested  Buck- 
hurst, admiringly. 

The  wretch  laughed  outright. 

"And  you  believe  that  you  deserve  well  of  the  com- 
mune?" smiled  Buckhurst. 

The  soldier  grinned  and  opened  his  mouth  to  an- 
swer, and  Buckhurst  shot  him  through  the  face ;  and, 
as  he  fell,  shot  him  again,  standing  wreathed  in  the 
smoke  of  his  own  weapon. 

The  deafening  racket  of  the  revolver,  the  smoke,  the 
spectacle  of  the  dusty,  inert  thing  on  the  floor  over 
which  Buckhurst  stood  and  shot,  seemed  to  stun 
us  all. 

"I  think,"  said  Buckhurst,  in  a  pleasantly  per- 
suasive voice,  "that  there  will  be  no  more  bribery  in 
this  battalion."  He  deliberately  opened  the  smoking 
weapon;  the  spent  shells  dropped  one  by  one  from 
the  cylinder,  clinking  on  the  stone  floor. 

"No  —  no  more  bribery,"  he  mused,  touching  the 

366 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

dead  man  with  the  carefully  polished  toe  of  his  shoe. 
"Because,"  he  added,  reloading  his  revolver,  "  I  do  not 
like  it." 

He  turned  quietly  to  Mornac  and  ordered  the  corpse 
to  be  buried,  and  Mornac,  plainly  unnerved  at  the 
murderous  act  of  his  superior,  repeated  the  order,  curs- 
ing his  men  to  cover  the  quaver  in  his  voice. 

"As  for  you,"  observed  Buckhurst,  glancing  up  at 
us  where  we  stood  speechless  together,  "you  will  be 
judged  and  sentenced  when  this  drum-head  court  de- 
cides. Go  into  that  room!" 

The  Countess  did  not  move. 

Speed  touched  her  arm ;  she  looked  up  quietly,  smiled, 
and  stepped  across  the  threshold.  Speed  followed; 
Jacqueline  slipped  in  beside  him,  and  then  I  turned  on 
Buckhurst,  who  had  just  ordered  his  soldiers  to  sur- 
round the  house  outside. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  I  said,  when  the  last  armed 
ruffian  had  departed,  "I  am  the  only  person  in  this 
house  who  has  interfered  with  your  affairs.  The 
others  have  done  nothing  to  harm  you." 

"The  court  will  decide  that,"  he  replied,  balancing 
his  revolver  in  his  palm. 

I  eyed  him  for  an  instant.  "  Do  you  mean  harm  to 
this  unfortunate  woman?"  I  asked. 

"My  friend,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  voice,  "you  have 
very  stupidly  upset  plans  that  have  cost  me  months 
to  perfect.  You  have,  by  stopping  that  train,  robbed 
me  of  something  less  than  twenty  millions  of  francs. 
I  have  my  labor  for  my  pains;  I  have  this  mob  of 
fools  on  my  hands;  I  may  lose  my  life  through  this 
whim  of  yours;  and  if  I  don't,  I  have  it  all  to  begin 
again.  And  you  ask  me  what  I  am  going  to  do!" 

His  eyes  glittered. 

"  If  I  strike  her  I  strike  you.  Ask  yourself  whether 
or  not  I  will  strike." 

367 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

All  the  blood  seemed  to  leave  my  heart ;  I  straightened 
up  with  an  effort. 

"There  are  some  murders/'  I  said,  "that  even  you 
must  recoil  at." 

"I  don't  think  you  appreciate  me,"  he  replied,  with 
a  deathly  smile. 

He  motioned  toward  the  door  with  levelled  weapon. 
I  turned  and  entered  the  tea-room,  and  he  locked  the 
door  from  the  outside. 

The  Countess,  seated  on  the  sofa,  looked  up  as  I 
appeared.  She  was  terribly  pale,  but  she  smiled  as 
my  heavy  eyes  met  hers. 

"  Is  it  to  be  farce  or  tragedy,  monsieur?"  she  asked, 
without  a  tremor  in  her  clear  voice. 

I  could  not  have  uttered  a  word  to  save  my  life.  Speed, 
pacing  the  room,  turned  to  read  my  face;  and  I  think 
he  read  it,  for  he  stopped  short  in  his  tracks.  Jacqueline, 
watching  him  with  blue,  inscrutable  eyes,  turned  sharp- 
ly toward  the  window  and  peered  out  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

Beyond  the  wall  of  the  garden  the  fog,  made  luminous 
by  the  torches  of  the  insurgents,  surrounded  the  house 
with  a  circle  of  bright,  ruddy  vapor. 

Speed  came  slowly  across  the  room  with  me. 

"Do  they  mean  to  shoot  us?"  he  asked,  bluntly. 

"Messieurs,"  said  the  Countess,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  your  whispers  are  no  compliment  to  my  race.  Pray 
honor  me  by  plain  speaking.  Are  we  to  die?" 

We  stood  absolutely  speechless  before  her. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Scarlett,"  she  said,  gravely,  "do 
you  also  fail  me  ...  at  the  end?  .  .  .  You,  too — 
even  you?  .  .  .  Must  I  tell  you  that  we  of  Tr6court 
fear  nothing  in  this  world?" 

She  made  a  little  gesture,  exquisitely  imperious. 

I  stepped  toward  her ;  she  waited  for  me  to  seat  my- 
self beside  her. 

368 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"Are  we  to  die?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  madame." 

"Thank  you/'  she  said,  softly. 

I  looked  up.  My  head  was  swimming  so  that  I  could 
scarcely  see  her,  scarcely  perceive  the  deep,  steady 
tenderness  in  her  clear  eyes. 

"Do  you  not  understand?"  she  asked.  "You  are 
my  friend.  I  wished  to  know  my  fate  from  you." 

"Madame,"  I  said,  hoarsely,  "how  can  you  call 
me  friend  when  you  know  to  what  I  have  brought 
you?" 

"You  have  brought  me  to  know  myself,"  she  said, 
simply.  "  Why  should  I  not  be  grateful?  Why  do  you 
look  at  me  so  sadly,  Monsieur  Scarlett?  Truly,  you 
must  know  that  my  life  has  been  long  enough  to 
prove  its  uselessness. " 

"It  is  not  true!"  I  cried,  stung  by  remorse  for  all 
I  had  said.  "Such  women  as  you  are  the  hope  of 
France!  Such  women  as  you  are  the  hope  of  the 
world!  Ah,  that  you  should  consider  the  bitterness 
and  folly  of  such  a  man  as  I  am — that  you  should 
consider  and  listen  to  the  sorry  wisdom  of  a  homeless 
mountebank — a  wandering  fool — a  preacher  of  empty 
platitudes,  who  has  brought  you  to  this  with  his  cursed 
meddling!" 

"You  taught  me  truth,"  she  said,  calmly;  "you 
make  the  last  days  of  my  life  the  only  ones  worth  liv- 
ing. I  said  to  you  but  an  hour  since  —  when  I  was 
angry — that  we  were  unfitted  to  comprehend  each  other. 
It  is  not  true.  We  are  fitted  for  that.  I  had  rather 
die  with  you  than  live  without  the  friendship  which  I 
believe — which  I  know — is  mine.  Monsieur  Scarlett, 
it  is  not  love.  If  it  were,  I  could  not  say  this  to  you 
— even  in  death's  presence.  It  is  something  better , 
something  untroubled,  confident,  serene.  .  .  .  You  see 
it  is  not  love.  .  .  .  And  perhaps  it  has  no  name.  .  .  . 

«  369 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

For  I  have  never  before  known  such  happiness,  such 
peace,  as  I  know  now,  here  with  you,  talking  of  oa> 
death.  If  we  could  live,  .  .  .  you  would  go  away.  .  .  . 
I  should  be  alone.  .  .  .  And  I  have  been  alone  all  m^ 
life,  .  .  .  and  I  am  tired.  You  see  I  have  nothing  t£ 
regret  in  a  death  that  brings  me  to  you  again.  .  .  . 
Do  you  regret  life?" 

"Not  now,"  I  said. 

"  You  are  kind  to  say  so.  I  do  believe — yes,  I  know 
that  you  trulv  care  for  me.  ...  Do  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  it  will  not  be  hard.  .  .  .  Perhaps  not  even 
very  painful." 

The  key  turning  in  the  door  startled  us.  Buckhurst 
entered,  and  through  the  hallway  I  saw  his  dishevelled 
soldiers  running,  flinging  open  doors,  tearing,  tramp- 
ling, pillaging,  wrecking  everything  in  their  path. 

"  Your  business  will  be  attended  to  in  the  garden  at 
dawn,"  he  observed,  blinking  about  the  room,  for  the 
bright  lamp-light  dazzled  him. 

Speed,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  window  with 
Jacqueline,  wheeled  sharply,  took  a  few  steps  into  the 
room,  then  sank  into  a  chair,  clasping  his  lank  hands 
between  his  knees. 

The  Countess  did  not  even  glance  up  as  the  sentence 
was  pronounced;  she  looked  at  me  and  laid  her  left 
hand  on  mine,  smiling,  as  though  waiting  for  the  mo- 
ment to  resume  an  interrupted  conversation. 

"Do  you  hear?"  demanded  Buckhurst,  raising  his 
voice. 

There  was  no  answer  for  a  moment ;  then  Jacqueline 
stepped  from  the  window  and  said :  "  Am  I  free  to  go?" 

"You!"  said  Buckhurst,  contemptuously;  "who  in 
hell  are  you?" 

"I  am  Jacqueline." 

"  Really,"  sneered  Buckhurst, 
370 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

He  went  away,  slamming  and  locking  the  door ;  and 
1  heard  Mornac  complaining  that  the  signals  had  gone 
out  on  the  semaphore  and  that  there  was  more  treach- 
ery abroad. 

"Get  me  a  horse!"  said  Buckhurst.  "There  are 
plenty  of  them  in  the  stables.  Mornac,  you  stay  here; 
I'll  ride  over  to  the  semaphore.  Gut  this  house  and 
fire  it  after  you've  finished  that  business  in  the  garden 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  demanded  Mornac's  angry 
voice.  "Do  you  expect  me  to  stay  here  while  you 
start  for  Paris?" 

"You  have  your  orders,"  said  Buckhurst,  menac- 
ingly. 

"Oh,  have  I?  What  are  they?  To  stay  here  when 
the  country  is  roused — stay  here  and  perhaps  be  shelled 
by  that  damned  cruiser  out  there — " 

His  voice  was  stifled  as  though  a  hand  had  clutched 
his  throat ;  there  came  the  swift  sound  of  a  struggle,  the 
banging  of  scabbards  and  spurs,  the  scuffle  of  heavy 
boots. 

"Are  you  mad?"  burst  out  Mornac's  strangled  voice. 

"Are  you?"  breathed  Buckhurst.  "Silence,  you 
fool.  Do  you  obey  orders  or  not?" 

Their  voices  receded.  Speed  sprang  to  the  door  to 
listen,  then  ran  back  to  the  window. 

"Scarlett,"  he  whispered,  "there  are  the  lights  of  a 
vessel  at  anchor  off  Groix." 

I  was  beside  him  in  an  instant.  "  It's  the  cruiser/' 
I  said.  "Oh,  Speed,  for  a  chance  to  signal!" 

We  looked  at  each  other  desperately. 

"  We  could  set  the  room  afire,"  he  said ;  "  they  might 
land  to  see  what  had  happened." 

"And  find  us  all  shot." 

Jacqueline,  standing  beside  Speed,  said,  quietly :  "  I 
could  swim  it.  Wait.  Raise  the  window  a  little." 

371 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

"  You  cannot  dive  from  that  cliff  1"  I  said. 

She  cautiously  unlocked  the  window  and  peered  out 
into  the  dark  garden. 

"The  cliff  falls  sheer  from  the  wall  yonder,"  she 
whispered.  "I  shall  try  to  drop.  I  learned  much  in 
the  circus.  I  am  not  afraid,  Speed.  I  shall  drop  into 
the  sea." 

"To  your  death/'  I  said. 

"Possibly,  m'sieu.  It  is  a  good  death,  however. 
I  am  not  afraid." 

"Close  the  window,"  muttered  Speed.  "They'd 
shoot  her  from  the  wall,  anyway." 

Again  the  child  gravely  asked  permission  to  try. 

"No,"  said  Speed,  harshly,  and  turned  away.  But 
in  that  instant  Jacqueline  flung  open  the  window  and 
vaulted  into  the  garden.  Before  I  could  realize  what 
had  happened  she  was  only  a  glimmering  spot  in  the 
darkness.  Then  Speed  and  I  followed  her,  running 
swiftly  toward  the  foot  of  the  garden,  but  we  were  too 
late;  a  slim,  white  shape  rose  from  the  top  of  the  wall 
and  leaped  blindly  out  through  the  ruddy  torch  glare 
into  the  blackness  beyond. 

We  heard  a  soldier's  startled  cry,  a  commotion, 
curses,  and  astonished  exclamations  from  the  other 
side  of  the  wall. 

"It  was  something,  I  tell  you!"  roared  a  soldier. 
"Something  that  jumped  over  the  cliff!" 

"  It  was  an  owl,  idiot!"  retorted  his  comrade. 

"I  tell  you  I  saw  it!"  protested  the  other,  in  a  shak- 
ing voice. 

"Then  you  saw  a  witch  of  Ker-Ys,"  bawled  another. 
"  Look  out  for  your  skin  in  the  first  battle.  It's  death 
to  see  such  things." 

I  looked  at  Speed.  He  stood  wide-eyed,  staring  at 
vacancy. 

"Could  she  do  it?"  I  asked,  horrified. 
372 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"God  knows,"  he  whispered. 

Soldiers  were  beginning  to  clamber  up  the  garden 
wall  from  the  outside;  torches  were  raised  to  investi- 
gate. As  we  shrank  back  into  the  shadow  of  the 
shrubbery  I  stumbled  over  something  soft — Jacque- 
line's clothes,  lying  in  a  circle  as  she  had  stepped  out 
of  them. 

Speed  took  them.  I  followed  him,  creeping  back  to 
the  window,  where  we  entered  in  time  to  avoid  discov- 
ery by  a  wretch  who  had  succeeded  in  mounting  the 
wall,  torch  in  hand. 

One  or  two  soldiers  climbed  over  and  dropped  into 
the  garden,  prowling  around,  prodding  the  bushes 
with  their  bayonets,  even  coming  to  press  their  dirty 
faces  and  hands  against  our  window. 

"They're  all  here!"  sang  out  one.  "It  was  an  owl, 
I  tell  you!"  And  he  menaced  us  with  his  rifle  in 
pantomime  and  retired,  calling  his  companions  to  fol- 
low. 

"Where  is  Jacqueline?"  asked  the  Countess,  looking 
inxiously  at  the  little  blue  skirt  on  Speed's  knees. 
"Have  they  harmed  that  child?" 

I  told  her. 

A  beautiful  light  grew  in  her  eyes  as  she  listened. 
"Did  I  not  warn  you  that  we  Bretons  know  how  to 
Hie?"  she  said. 

I  looked  dully  at  Speed,  who  sat  by  the  window, 
brooding  over  the  little  woollen  skirt  on  his  knees, 
stroking  it,  touching  the  torn  hem,  and  at  last  folding 
it  with  unaccustomed  and  shaky  hands. 

There  were  noises  outside  our  door,  loud  voices, 
hammering,  the  sound  of  furniture  being  dragged  over 
stone  floors,  and  I  scarcely  noticed  it  when  our  door 
was  opened  again. 

Then  somebody  called  out  our  names;  a  file  of  half- 
drunken  soldiers  grounded  arms  in  the  passage- \v;iv 

373 


THE   MAIDS    OF   PARADISE 

with  a  bang  that  brought  us  to  our  feet,  as  Mornac, 
flushed  with  wine,  entered  unsteadily,  drawn  sword 
in  hand. 

"I'm  damned  if  I  stay  here  any  longer/'  he  broke 
out,  angrily.  "  I'll  see  whether  my  rascals  can't  shoot 
straight  by  torch-light.  Here,  you!  Scarlett,  I  mean! 
And  you,  Speed ;  and  you,  too,  madame ;  patter  your 
prayers,  for  you'll  get  no  priest.  Lieutenant,  withdraw 
the  guard  at  the  wall.  Here,  captain,  march  the  bat- 
talion back  to  Paradise  and  take  the  servants!" 

A  second  later  the  drums  began  to  beat,  but  Mornac, 
furious,  silenced  them. 

"They  can  hear  you  at  sea!"  he  shouted.  "Do  you 
want  a  boat-load  of  marines  at  your  heels?  Strikeout 
those  torches!  Four  will  do  for  the  garden.  March!" 

The  shuffling  tread  of  the  insurgent  infantry  echoed 
across  the  gravel  court-yard ;  torches  behind  the  walls 
were  extinguished;  blackness  enveloped  the  cliffs. 

"Well,"  broke  out  Speed, hoarsely,  "good-bye,  Scar- 
lett." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-bye,"  I  said,  stunned. 

I  dropped  my  hand  as  two  soldiers  placed  themselves 
on  either  side  of  him. 

"Well,  good-bye,"  he  repeated,  aimlessly;  and  then, 
remembering,  he  went  to  the  Countess  and  offered  his 
hand. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  she  said,  with  a  pallid  smile. 
"  You  have  much  to  live  for.  But  you  must  not  feel 
lonely,  monsieur;  you  will  be  with  us  —  we  shall  be 
close  to  you." 

She  turned  to  me,  and  her  hands  fell  to  her  side. 

"Are  you  contented?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  I,  too,"  she  said,  sweetly,  and  offered  her  hands. 

I  held  them  very  tightly.  "You  say,"  I  whispered, 

374 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"  that  it  is  not  —  love.  But  you  do  not  speak  for  me. 
I  love  you." 

A  bright  blush  spread  over  brow  and  neck. 

"So — it  was  love — after  all,"  she  said,  under  her 
breath.  " God  be  with  us  to-day — I  love  you." 

"March!"  cried  Mornac,  as  two  soldiers  took  station 
beside  me. 

"I  beg  you  will  be  gentle  with  this  lady,"  I  said, 
angrily,  as  two  more  soldiers  pushed  up  beside  the 
young  Countess  and  laid  their  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you  giving  orders  to?"  shouted 
Mornac,  savagely.  "March!" 

Speed  passed  out  first ;  I  followed ;  the  Countess  came 
behind  me. 

"Courage,"  I  stammered,  looking  back  at  her  as  we 
stumbled  out  into  the  torch-lit  garden. 

She  smiled  adorably.  Her  forefathers  had  mounted 
the  guillotine  smiling. 

Mornac  pointed  to  the  garden  wall  near  the  bench 
where  we  had  sat  together.  A  soldier  dressed  like  a 
Turco  lifted  a  torch  and  set  it  in  the  flower-bed  under 
the  wall,  illuminating  the  spot  where  we  were  to  stand. 
As  this  soldier  turned  to  come  back  I  saw  his  face. 

" Salah  Ben- Ahmed!"  I  cried,  hoarsely.  " Do  Mara- 
bouts do  this  butcher's  work?" 

The  Turco  stared  at  me  as  though  stunned. 

"Salah  Ben- Ahmed  is  a  disgraced  soldier!"  I  said, 
in  a  ringing  voice. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  shouted,  in  Arabic— "it's  a  lie,  0 
my  inspector!  Speak!  Have  these  men  tricked  me? 
Are  you  not  Prussians?" 

"Silence!  Silence!"  bawled  Mornac.  "Turco,  fall 
in!  Fall  in,  I  say!  What!  You  menace  me?"  he 
snarled,  cocking  his  revolver. 

Then  a  man  darted  out  of  the  red  shadows  of  the 
375 


THE    MAIDS   OF   PARADISE 

torch-light  and  fell  upon  Mornac  with  a  knife,  and 
dragged  him  down  and  rolled  on  him,  stabbing  him 
through  and  through,  while  the  mutilated  wretch 
screamed  and  screamed  until  his  soul  struggled  out 
through  the  flame-shot  darkness  and  fled  to  its  last 
dreadful  abode. 

The  Lizard  rose,  shaking  his  fagot  knife;  they  fell 
upon  him,  clubbing  and  stabbing  with  stock  and  bayo- 
net, but  he  swung  his  smeared  and  sticky  blade,  clear- 
ing a  circle  around  him.  And  I  think  he  could  have 
cut  his  way  free  had  not  Tric-Trac  shot  him  in  the 
back  of  the  head. 

Then  a  frightful  tumult  broke  loose.  Three  of  the 
torches  were  knocked  to  the  ground  and  trampled  out 
as  the  insurgents,  doubly  drunken  with  wine  and  the 
taste  of  blood,  seized  me  and  tried  to  force  me  against 
the  wall ;  but  the  Turco,  with  his  shrill,  wolf -like  battle 
yelp,  attacked  them,  sabre  -  bayonet  in  hand.  Speed, 
too,  had  wrested  a  rifle  from  a  half -stupefied  ruffian, 
and  now  stood  at  bay  before  the  Countess ;  I  saw  him 
wielding  his  heavy  weapon  like  a  flail;  then  in  the 
darkness  Tric-Trac  shot  at  me,  so  close  that  the  pow- 
der-flame scorched  my  leg.  He  dropped  his  rifle  to 
spring  for  my  throat,  knocking  me  flat,  and,  crouching 
on  me,  strove  to  strangle  me ;  and  I  heard  him  whining 
with  eagerness  while  I  twisted  and  writhed  to  free  my 
windpipe  from  his  thin  fingers. 

At  last  I  tore  him  from  my  body  and  struggled  to 
my  feet.  He,  too,  was  on  his  legs  with  a  bound,  run- 
ning, doubling,  dodging ;  and  at  his  heels  I  saw  a 
dozen  sailors,  broadaxes  glittering,  chasing  him  from 
tree  to  shrub. 

"Speed!"  I  shouted — "the  sailors  from  the  Fer-de- 
Lance!" 

The  curtains  of  the  house  were  on  fire;  through  the 
hallway  poured  the  insurgent  soldiery,  stampeding 

376 


LIKE   HER   ANCESTORS 

in  frantic  flight  across  the  court  out  into  the  moors; 
and  the  marines,  swarming  along  the  cliffs,  shot  at 
them  as  they  ran,  and  laughed  savagely  when  a  man 
fell  into  the  gorse,  kicking  like  a  wounded  rabbit. 

Speed  marked  their  flight,  advancing  coolly,  pistol 
flashing ;  the  Turco.  Ben- Ahmed,  dark  arms  naked  to 
the  shoulder,  bounded  behind  the  frightened  wretches, 
cornering,  hunting  them  through  flower-beds  and 
bushes,  stealthily,  keenly,  now  creeping  among  the 
shadows,  now  springing  like  a  panther  on  his  prey, 
until  his  blue  jacket  reeked  and  his  elbows  dripped. 

I  had  picked  up  a  rifle  with  a  broken  bayonet;  the 
Countess,  clasping  my  left  arm,  stood  swaying  in  the 
rifle-smoke,  eyes  closed ;  and,  when  a  horrid  screeching 
arose  from  the  depths  of  the  garden  where  they  were 
destroying  Tric-Trac,  she  fell  to  shuddering,  hiding 
her  face  on  my  shoulder. 

Suddenly  Speed  appeared,  carrying  a  drenched  lit- 
tle figure,  partly  wrapped  in  a  sailor's  pea-jacket,  slim 
limbs  drooping,  blue  with  cold. 

"  Put  out  that  fire  in  there,"  he  said,  hoarsely ;  "  we 
must  get  her  into  bed.  Hurry,  for  God's  sake,  Scarlett! 
There's  nobody  in  the  house!" 

"Jacqueline!  Jacqueline!  brave  little  Bretonne," 
murmured  the  Countess,  bending  forward  and  gather- 
ing the  unconscious  child  into  her  strong,  young  arms. 

Through  the  dim  dawn,  through  smoke  and  fading 
torch-light,  we  carried  Jacqueline  into  the  house,  now 
lighted  up  with  an  infei  nal  red  from  the  burning  dining- 
room. 

"  The  house  is  stone ;  we  can  keep  the  flames  to  one 
room  if  we  work  hard,"  I  said.  A  sailor  stood  by  the 
door  wiping  the  stained  blade  of  his  broadaxe,  and  I 
called  on  him  to  aid  us. 

A  fresh  company  of  sailors  passed  on  the  double, 
rifles  trailing,  their  officer  shouting  encouragement. 

377 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

And  as  we  came  in  view  of  the  semaphore,  I  saw  the 
signal  tower  on  fire  from  base  to  top. 

The  gray  moorland  was  all  flickering  with  flashes 
where  the  bulk  of  the  insurgent  infantry  began  firing 
in  retreat ;  the  marines'  fusillade  broke  out  from  Para- 
dise village;  rifle  after  rifle  cracked  along  the  river- 
bank.  Suddenly  the  deep  report  of  a  cannon  came 
echoing  landward  from  the  sea;  a  shell,  with  lighted 
fuse  trailing  sparks,  flew  over  us  with  a  rushing  whis- 
tle and  exploded  on  the  moors. 

All  this  I  saw  from  the  house  where  I  stood  with 
Speed  and  a  sailor,  buried  in  smoke,  chopping  out 
blazing  wood-work,  tearing  the  burning  curtains  from 
the  windows.  The  marines  fired  steadily  from  the 
windows  above  us. 

"They  want  the  Red  Terror  1"  laughed  the  sailors. 
"They  shall  have  it!" 

"Hunt  them  out!  Hunt  them  out!"  cried  an  officer, 
briskly.  "Fire!"  rang  out  a  voice,  and  the  volley 
broke  crashing,  followed  by  the  clear,  penetrating 
boatswain's  whistle  sounding  the  assault. 

Blackened,  scorched,  almost  suffocated,  I  staggered 
back  to  the  tea-room,  where  the  Countess  stood  clasp- 
ing Jacqueline,  huddled  in  a  blanket,  and  smoothing 
the  child's  wet  curls  away  from  a  face  as  white  as 
death. 

Together  we  carried  her  back  through  the  smoking 
hallway,  up  the  stairs  to  my  bedroom,  and  laid  her  in 
the  bed. 

The  child  opened  her  eyes  as  we  drew  the  blankets. 

"Where  is  Speed?"  she  asked,  dreamily. 

A  moment  later  he  came  in,  and  she  turned  her  head 
languidly  and  smiled. 

"Jacqueline!  Jacqueline!"  he  whispered,  bending 
close  above  her. 

"Do  you  love  me,  Speed?" 
378 


LIKE    HER    ANCESTORS 

"Ah,  Jacqueline,"  he  stammered,  "more  than  you 
can  understand." 

Suddenly  a  step  sounded  on  the  stairs,  a  rifle-stock 
grounded,  clanging,  and  a  sonorous  voice  rang  out : 

"Salute,  O  my  brother  of  the  toug!  The  enemies  of 
France  are  dead!" 

And  in  the  silence  around  him  Salah  Ben-Ahmed 
the  Marabout  recited  the  fatha,  bearing  witness  to  the 
eternal  unity  of  God. 

Late  that  night  the  light  cavalry  from  Lorient  rode 
into  Paradise.  At  dawn  the  colonel,  established  in 
the  mayory,  from  whence  its  foolish  occupant  had 
fled,  sent  for  Speed  and  me,  and  when  we  reported  he 
drew  from  his  heavy  dolman  our  commissions,  restor- 
ing us  to  rank  and  pay  in  the  regiment  de  marche  which 
he  commanded. 

At  sunrise  I  had  bade  good-bye  to  the  sweetest  woman 
on  earth ;  at  noon  we  were  miles  to  the  westward,  riding 
like  demons  on  Buckhurst's  heavy  trail. 

I  am  not  sure  that  we  ever  saw  him  again,  though 
once,  weeks  later,  Speed  and  I  and  a  dozen  hussars 
gave  chase  to  a  mounted  man  near  St.  Brieuc,  and  that 
man  might  have  been  Buckhurst.  He  led  us  a  mag- 
nificent chase  straight  to  the  coast,  where  we  rode 
plump  into  a  covey  of  Prussian  hussars,  who  were 
standing  on  their  saddles,  hacking  away  at  the  tele- 
graph-wires with  their  heavy,  curved  sabres. 

That  was  our  first  and  last  sight  of  the  enemy  in 
either  Prussian  or  communistic  guise,  though  in  the 
long,  terrible  days  and  nights  of  that  winter  of  '71, 
when  three  French  armies  froze,  and  the  white  death, 
not  the  Prussians,  ended  all  for  France,  rumors  of  in- 
surrection came  to  us  from  the  starving  capital,  and 
we  heard  of  the  red  flag  flying  on  the  H6tel-de-Ville, 
and  the  rising  of  the  carbineers  under  Flourens;  and 

379 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

some  spoke  of  the  leader  of  the  insurrection  and  called 
him  John  Buckhurst. 

That  Buckhurst  could  have  penetrated  Paris  neither 
Speed  nor  I  believed;  but,  as  all  now  know,  we  were 
wrong,  though  the  testimony  concerning  his  death* 
at  the  hands  of  his  terrible  colleague,  Mortier,  was  not 
in  evidence  until  a  young  ruffian,  known  as  "The 
Mouse,"  confessed  before  he  expiated  his  crimes  on 
Sartory  Plain  in  1872. 

Thus,  for  three  blank,  bitter  months,  freezing  and 
starving,  the  1st  Regiment  de  marche  of  Lorient  Hus- 
sars stood  guard  at  Brest  over  the  diamonds  of  the 
crown  of  France. 

*This  affair  is  dealt  with  in  Ashes  of  Empirt. 


XXII 

THE  SECRET 

THE  news  of  the  collapse  of  the  army  of  the  East 
found  our  wretchedly  clothed  and  half -starved 
hussars  still  patrolling  the  environs  of  Brest  from 
Belair  to  the  Pont  Tournant,  and  from  the  banks  of 
the  Elorn  clear  around  the  ramparts  to  Lannion  Bay, 
where  the  ice-sheathed  iron-clads  lay  with  banked 
fires  off  the  Port  Militaire,  and  the  goulet  guard-boats 
patrolled  the  Port  de  Commerce  from  the  Passe  de 
1'Ouest  to  the  hook  on  the  Digue  and  clear  around  to 
Cap  Espagnol. 

All  Brest,  from  the  battlements  of  the  Chateau  of  St. 
Martin,  in  Belair,  was  on  watch,  so  wrought  up  was  the 
governor  over  the  attempt  on  the  treasure-train.  For 
three  months  our  troopers  scarcely  left  their  saddles, 
except  to  be  taken  to  the  hospital  in  Recouvrance. 

The  rigor  of  the  constant  alert  wore  us  to  shadows ; 
rockets  from  the  goulet,  the  tocsin,  the  warnu'i^  ooom 
of  a  gun  from  the  castle,  found  us  spurring  our  jaded 
horses  through  ice  and  snow  to  scour  the  landward 
banlieue  and  purge  it  of  a  dreaded  revolt.  The  names 
of  Marx,  of  Flourens,  of  Buckhurst,  were  constantly  re- 
peated; news  of  troubles  at  Bordeaux,  rumors  of  the 
red  flag  at  Marseilles,  only  served  to  increase  the  rit^id 
system  of  patrol,  which  brought  death  to  those  in  the 
trenches  as  well  as  to  our  sleet-soaked  videttes. 

Suddenly  the  nightmare  ended  with  a  telegram. 
Paris  had  surrendered. 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

Immediately  the  craze  to  go  beset  us  all;  our  im- 
provised squadrons  became  clamoring  mobs  of  peas- 
ants, wild  to  go  home.  Deserters  left  us  every  night; 
they  shot  some  in  full  flight ;  some  were  shot  after  drum- 
head stances  in  which  Speed  and  I  voted  in  vain  for 
acquittal.  But  affairs  grew  worse;  our  men  neglected 
their  horses;  bands  of  fugitives  robbed  the  suburbs, 
roving  about,  pillaging,  murdering,  even  burning  the 
wretched  hovels  where  nothing  save  the  four  walls 
remained  even  for  the  miserable  inmates. 

Our  hussars  were  sent  on  patrol  again,  but  they  de- 
serted with  horses  and  arms  in  scores,  until,  when  we 
rode  into  the  Rue  du  Bois  d'Amour,  scarce  a  squadron 
clattered  into  the  smoky  gateway,  and  the  infantry  of 
the  line  across  the  street  jeered  and  cursed  us  from  their 
barracks. 

On  the  last  day  of  February  our  regiment  was  dis 
banded,  and  the  officers  ordered  to  hold  themselves  in 
readiness  to  recruit  the  debris  of  a  dragoon  regiment, 
one  squadron  of  which  at  once  took  possession  of  our 
miserable  barracks. 

On  the  first  day  of  March,  by  papers  from  London, 
we  learned  that  the  war  was  at  an  end,  and  that  the 
preliminary  treaty  of  Sunday,  the  26th,  had  been  sign- 
ed at  Versailles. 

ine  ccime  mail  brought  to  me  an  astonishing  offer 
from  Cairo,  to  assist  in  the  reorganization  and  accept 
a  commission  in  the  Egyptian  military  police.  Speed 
and  I,  shivering  in  our  ragged  uniforms  by  the  bar' 
rack  stove,  discussed  the  matter  over  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  a  few  sardines,  until  we  fell  asleep  in  our  greasy 
chairs  and  dreamed  of  hot  sunshine,  and  of  palms,  and 
of  a  crimson  sunset  against  which  a  colossal  basking 
monster,  half  woman,  half  lion,  crouched,  wallowing 
to  her  stone  breasts  in  a  hot  sea  of  sand. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  black  morning  hours  I  knew 


THE    SECRET 

that  I  should  go.  All  the  roaming  instinct  in  me  was 
roused.  I,  a  nomad,  had  stayed  too  long  in  one  stale 
place;  I  must  be  moving  on.  A  feverish  longing  seized 
me;  inertia  became  unbearable;  the  restless  sea  called 
me  louder  and  louder,  thundering  on  the  breakwater ; 
the  gulls,  wheeling  above  the  arsenal  at  dawn,  screamed 
a  challenge. 

Leave  of  absence,  and  permission  to  travel  pending 
acceptance  of  my  resignation,  I  asked  for  and  obtained 
before  the  stable  trumpets  awoke  my  comrade  from  his 
heavy  slumber  by  the  barrack  stove. 

I  made  my  packet — not  much — a  few  threadbare  gar- 
ments folded  around  her  letters,  one  to  mark  each 
miserable  day  that  had  passed  since  I  spurred  my 
horse  out  of  Trecourt  on  the  track  of  the  wickedest  man 
I  ever  knew. 

Speed  awoke  with  the  trumpets,  and  stared  at  me 
where  I  knelt  before  the  stove  in  my  civilian  clothes, 
strapping  up  my  little  packet. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  briefly,  "I  knew  you  were  going." 

"So  did  I,"  I  replied.  "Will  you  ride  to  Trecourt 
with  me?  I  have  two  weeks'  permission  for  you." 

He  had  no  clothing  but  the  uniform  he  wore,  and  no 
baggage  except  a  razor,  a  shirt,  a  tooth-brush,  and  a 
bundle  of  letters,  all  written  on  Madame  de  Vassart's 
crested  paper,  but  not  signed  by  her. 

We  bolted  our  breakfast  of  soup  and  black  bread, 
and  bawled  for  our  horses,  almost  crazed  with  impa- 
tience, now  that  the  moment  had  come  at  last. 

"Good-bye!"  shouted  the  shivering  dragoon  ofli 
wistfully,  as  we  wheeled  our  horses  and  spurred,  clat- 
tering, towards  the  black  gates.     "  Good-bye  and  good 
luck!     We  drink  to  those  you  love,  comrades!" 

"And  they  shall  drink  to  you!  Good-bye!  Good- 
bye!" we  cried,  till  the  salt  sea- wind  tore  the  words 
from  our  teeth  and  bowed  our  heads  as  we  galloped 

383 


THE   MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

through  the  suburbs  and  out  into  the  icy  high-road, 
where,  above  us,  the  telegraph-wires  sang  their  whir- 
ring dirge,  and  the  wind  in  the  gorse  whistled,  and  the 
distant  forest  sounded  and  resounded  with  the  gale's 
wailing. 

On,  en,  hammering  the  flinty  road  with  steel-shod 
hoofs,  racing  with  the  racing  clouds,  thundering  across 
the  pontoon,  where  benumbed  soldiers  huddled  to 
stare,  then  bounding  forward  through  the  narrow 
lanes  of  hamlets,  where  pinched  faces  peered  out  at 
us  from  hovels,  and  gaunt  dogs  fled  from  us  into  the 
frozen  hedge. 

Far  ahead  we  caught  sight  of  the  smoke  of  a  loco- 
motive. 

"Landerneau!"  gasped  Speed.  "Ride  hard,  Scar- 
lett!" 

The  station-master  saw  us  and  halted  the  moving 
train  at  a  frantic  signal  from  Speed,  whose  uniform 
was  to  be  reckoned  with  by  all  station-masters,  and 
ten  minutes  later  we  stood  swaying  in  a  cattle-car, 
huddled  close  to  our  horses  to  keep  warm,  while  the 
locomotive  tore  eastward,  whistling  frantically,  and  an 
ocean  of  black  smoke  poured  past,  swarming  with 
sparks.  Crossing  the  Aune  trestle  with  a  ripping  roar, 
the  train  rushed  through  Chateaulin,  south,  then  east, 
then  south. 

Toward  noon,  Speed,  clinging  to  the  stall -bars, 
called  out  to  me  that  he  could  see  Quimper,  and  in  a 
few  moments  we  rolled  into  the  station,  dropped  two 
cars,  and  steamed  out  again  into  the  beautiful  Breton 
country,  where  the  winter  wheat  was  green  as  new  grass 
and  the  gorse  glimmered,  and  the  clear  streams  rushed 
jeaward  between  their  thickets  of  golden  willows  and 
green  briers,  already  flushing  with  the  promise  of  new 
buds. 

Rosporden  we  passed  at  full  speed ;  scarcely  a  patch 

384 


THE    SECRET 

of  melting  snow  remained  at  Bannalec ;  and  when  we 
steamed  slowly  into  Qu impede",  the  Lalta  ran  crystal- 
clear  as  a  summer  stream,  and  I  saw  the  faint  blue  of 
violets  on  the  southern  slope  of  the  beech-woods. 

Some  gendarmes  aided  us  to  disembark  our  horses, 
and  a  sub-officer  respectfully  offered  us  hospitality  at 
the  barracks  across  the  square;  but  we  were  in  our  sad- 
dles the  moment  our  horses'  hoofs  struck  the  pave- 
ment, galloping  for  Paradise,  with  a  sweet,  keen  wind 
blowing,  hinting  already  of  the  sea. 

This  was  that  same  road  which  led  me  into  Paradise 
on  that  autumn  day  which  seemed  years  and  years 
ago.  The  forests  were  leafless  but  beautiful ;  the  black- 
thorns already  promised  their  scented  snow  to  follow 
the  last  melting  drift  which  still  glimmered  among  the 
trees  in  deep  woodland  gullies.  A  violet  here  and 
there  looked  up  at  us  with  blue  eyes ;  in  sheltered  spots, 
fresh,  reddish  sprouts  pricked  the  moist  earth,  here  a 
whorl  of  delicate  green,  there  a  tender  spike,  guarding 
some  imprisoned  loveliness ;  buds  on  the  beeches  were 
brightening  under  a  new  varnish;  naked  thickets,  no 
longer  dead  gray,  softened  into  harmonies  of  pink 
and  gold  and  palest  purple. 

Once,  halting  at  a  bridge,  above  the  quick  music 
of  the  stream  we  heard  an  English  robin  singing  all 
alone. 

"  I  never  longed  for  spring  as  I  do  now,"  broke  out 
Speed.  "  The  horror  of  this  black  winter  has  scarred 
me  forever — the  deathly  whiteness,  month  after  month  ; 
the  freezing  filth  of  that  ghastly  city;  the  sea,  all  slime 
and  ice!" 

"Gallop,"  I  said,  shuddering.  "I  can  smell  the 
moors  of  Paradise  already.  The  winds  will  cleanse 
us." 

We  spoke  no  more ;  and  at  last  the  road  turned  to  the 
east,  down  among  the  trees,  and  we  were  traversing 

'5  385 


THE    MAIDS    OF    PARADISE 

the  square  of  Paradise  village,  where  white -capped 
women  turned  to  look  after  us,  and  children  stared  at 
us  from  their  playground  around  the  fountain  and  the 
sleek  magpies  fluttered  out  of  our  path  as  we  galloped 
over  the  bridge  and  breasted  the  sweet,  strong  moor 
wind,  spicy  with  bay  and  gorse. 

Speed  flung  out  his  arm,  pointing.  "The  circus 
camp  was  there/'  he  said.  "  They  have  ploughed  the 
clover  under." 

A  moment  later  I  saw  the  tower  of  Tr£court,  touched 
with  a  ray  of  sunshine,  and  the  sea  beyond,  glittering 
under  a  clearing  sky. 

As  we  dismounted  in  the  court-yard  the  sun  flashed 
out  from  the  fringes  of  a  huge,  snowy  cloud. 

"There  is  Jacqueline!"  cried  Speed,  tossing  his 
bridle  to  me  in  his  excitement,  and  left  me  planted 
there  until  a  servant  came  from  the  stable. 

Then  I  followed,  every  nerve  quivering,  almost  dread- 
ing to  set  foot  within,  lest  happiness  awake  me  and  I 
find  myself  in  the  freezing  barracks  once  more,  my 
brief  dream  ended. 

In  the  hallway  a  curious  blindness  came  over  me.  I 
heard  Jacqueline  call  my  name,  and  I  felt  her  hands 
in  mine,  but  scarcely  saw  her;  then  she  slipped  away 
from  me,  and  I  found  myself  seated  in  the  little  tea-room, 
listening  to  the  dull,  double  beat  of  my  own  heart,  trem- 
bling at  distant  sounds  in  the  house — waiting,  endless- 
ly waiting. 

After  a  while  a  glimmer  of  common-sense  returned 
to  me.  I  squared  my  shoulders  and  breathed  deeply, 
then  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 

The  twigs  on  the  peach-trees  had  turned  wine-color ; 
around  the  roots  of  the  larkspurs  delicate  little  pal- 
mated  leaves  clustered ;  crocus  spikes  pricked  the  grass 
everywhere,  and  the  tall,  polished  shoots  of  the  peonies 
glistened,  glowing  crimson  in  the  sun.  A  heavy  cat 

386 


THE    SECRET 

sunned  its  sleek  flanks  on  the  wall,  brilliant  eyes  hall 
closed,  tail  tucked  under.  Ange  Pitou  had  grown 
very  fat  in  three  months. 

A  step  at  the  door,  and  I  wheeled,  trembling.  But 
it  was  only  a  Breton  maid,  who  bore  some  letters  on  a 
salver  of  silver. 

"  For  me?"  I  asked. 

"If  you  please,"  she  said,  demurely. 

Two  letters,  and  I  knew  the  writing  on  one.  The 
first  I  read  standing : 

"BUFFALO,  N.  Y.,  Feb.  3,  1871. 

"  MR.  SCARLETT,  DEAR  SIR  AND  FRIEND,— -Trusting  you're 
well  I  am  pleased  to  admit  the  same,  the  blind  Goddess  having 
smiled  on  me  and  the  circus  since  we  quit  that  damn  terra  firma 
for  a  more  peeceful  climb. 

"  We  are  enjoying  winter  quarters  near  to  the  majestic  phe- 
nomena of  Niagara,  fodder  is  cheap  and  vittles  bountiful. 

"  Would  be  pleased  to  have  you  entertain  idees  of  joining  us, 
*nd  the  same  to  Mr.  Speed — you  can  take  the  horses.  I  have 
a  lion  man  from  Jersey  City.  We  open  in  Charleston  S.  C. 
next  week  no  more  of  La  con  tin  on  g  for  me,  savvy  voof  home  is 
good  enough  for  me.  That  little  Jacqueline  left  me  I  got  a  girl 
and  am  training  her  but  she  ain't  Jacqueline.  Annimals  are 
well  Mrs.  Grigg  sends  her  love  and  is  joined  by  all  especially 
the  ladies  and  others  too  numerous  to  mention.  Hoping  to  hear 
from  you  soon  about  the  horses  I  remain  yours  truly  and  cour- 
teously, H.  BYRAM  ESQ." 

The  second  letter  I   opened   carelessly,   smiling  a 

little: 

"NEW  YORK.  Feb.  i,  1871. 

"  DEAR  MR.  SCARLETT,— We  were  married  yesterday.  We 
have  life  before  us,  but  are  not  afraid.  I  shall  never  forget  you ; 
my  wife  can  never  forget  the  woman  you  love.  We  have  both 
passed  through  hell — but  toe  have  passed  through  alive.  And 
we  pray  for  the  happiness  of  you  and  yours. 

"  KELLY  EYRE." 

Sobered,  I  laid  this  letter  beside  the  first,  turned 
thoughtfully  away  into  the  room,  then  stood  stock- 
still. 


THE    MAIDS   OF    PARADISE 

The  Countess  de  Vassart  stood  in  the  doorway,  a 
smile  trembling  on  her  lips.  In  her  gray  eyes  I  read 
hope ;  and  I  took  her  hands  in  mine.  She  stood  silent 
with  bent  head,  exquisite  in  her  silent  shyness ;  and  I 
told  her  I  loved  her,  and  that  I  asked  for  her  love ;  that 
I  had  found  employment  in  Egypt,  and  that  it  was  suf- 
ficient to  justify  my  asking  her  to  wed  me. 

"As  for  my  name,"  I  said,  "you  know  that  is  not 
the  name  I  bear;  yet,  knowing  that,  you  have  given 
me  your  love.  You  read  my  dossier  in  Paris;  you 
know  why  I  am  alone,  without  kin,  without  a  family, 
without  a  home.  Yet  you  believe  that  I  am  not  tainted 
with  dishonor.  And  I  am  not.  Listen,  this  is  what 
happened ;  this  is  why  I  gave  up  all ;  and  .  .  .  this  is 
my  name!"  .  .  . 

And  I  bent  my  head  and  whispered  the  truth  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  to  any  living  creature. 

When  I  had  ended  I  stood  still,  waiting,  head  still 
bowed  beside  hers. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  my  hot  face  and  slowly  drew  it 
close  beside  hers. 

"What  shall  I  promise  you?"  she  whispered. 

"Yourself,  Eline." 

"Take  me.  .  .  .  Is  that  all?" 

"Your  love." 

She  turned  in  my  arms  and  clasped  her  hands  be- 
hind my  head,  pressing  her  mouth  to  mine. 


THE  END 


'-"••' 


